


thinking about fucking each other (before we fall asleep)

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alex Gaskarth - Freeform, M/M, Unrequited Love, calum lovssss luke ;(, luke is oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mostly, he thinks of the big blue eyes, and the feathery, golden hair, and realises that it had always been Luke. Has always been Luke. He has never not loved Luke, not since he’d met him.Calum’s throat closes up, and he gasps for air. It’s too much.-(or, Calum's in love with Luke, Luke has his head up his ass, Ashton's an amazing friend, Jack's a horrible advisee and Michael loves big cars.)





	1. Chapter 1

_"[i hope that the absence of us](https://68.media.tumblr.com/4782151bbfded37e2247f7bbee14313e/tumblr_nyfdl5gILd1thti8go3_500.gif)_  
[ doesn’t feel like an emptiness](https://68.media.tumblr.com/4782151bbfded37e2247f7bbee14313e/tumblr_nyfdl5gILd1thti8go3_500.gif)  
[ but more of a heavy weight](https://68.media.tumblr.com/4782151bbfded37e2247f7bbee14313e/tumblr_nyfdl5gILd1thti8go3_500.gif)  
[ being lifted off of your shoulders](https://68.media.tumblr.com/4782151bbfded37e2247f7bbee14313e/tumblr_nyfdl5gILd1thti8go3_500.gif)"

_\- flatsound._

 

It’s been a little over five years since the coming of 5 Seconds of Summer as an official band, and Calum couldn’t be happier.

 

Having done world tours, released albums and EP’s, met a million different faces, and only at age twenty? Well, Calum is more than pleased with the outcome of four Australian burnouts, shoved together in a band to make and perform music. There’s really nobody else in the world he’d rather have on his journey than Michael, Ashton and Luke, and he brims with pride at the thought.

 

They go out for drinks to celebrate. It’s tradition - although their first celebration in 2011 took place under illegal circumstances (technically!), what with 3/4 of them being underage. Michael swings by to pick up Ashton and Calum in his huge Range Rover, and grins from behind the wheel.

 

“Jesus, I don’t even know how you manage this thing,” Ashton huffs, buckling himself up in the backseat. Calum had called shotgun.

 

“It’s a God-given talent, my dear friend,” Michael sing-songs, pulling onto the main road from where he had parked at the side. “Oops,” He mutters after a car horns from behind him, and Ashton groans about their high chances of dying at the hands of Michael’s recklessness.

 

Calum’s quiet, staring down at his phone. He has a text conversation with Luke open.

 

**LRH, 20:42**

Gonna be late. Can text address? :D

 

**CTH, 20:43**

Want us to come by your place? Can’t promise you’ll live tho. Mikes driving, lol.

 

**LRH, 20:49**

’s cool. I’m at lea’s. Address tho?

 

Calum frowns, tapping his thumb unto the phone screen as he ponders a reply. Part of him wants to refrain from texting Luke back, slightly hurt that Luke would be late to their anniversary celebration, and would technically push their company away for his girlfriend’s. He shakes his head, trying not to act like such a kid, and replies quickly with the bar’s address. They’re headed there on Ashton’s insistent recommendation.

 

**LRH, 20:53**

Thanks, C-Dizz. Be there at 9:30 probs.

 

**CTH, 20:53**

Ok…

 

**LRH, 20:56**

:-)

 

“Ah,” Calum starts, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. He’s put out by Luke’s lack of… well, care, and Michael gives him a curious side glance. “Luke’s gonna be late.”

 

“Okie doke,” Michael says coolly, and Ashton grunts in acknowledgement. They don’t seem bothered by Luke’s tardiness, and Calum’s frown deepens. “He’s at Arzaylea’s,” Calum adds quickly, and still, Michael hums and Ashton grunts.

 

Well then. Maybe Calum was the only one annoyed.

 

He pushes away the negative feelings, trying to focus on the fact that they were celebrating five years together, as a band.

 

“I can’t believe we’ve been band-ing for five years,” It’s as if Ashton’s read his thoughts, and the curly-headed boy is kicking at Calum’s seat, “Ya hear that, Cal? Five years! That’s five years of us.” And Calum grins, any feelings of frustration washing away as he indulges in light conversation with Ashton and Michael.

 

They’re discussing their current favourites to perform when Michael pulls into a parking space. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure my favourite to play is still American Idiot,” He muses, adjusting the giant car so it’s centred.

 

“What?” Ashton protests, “That’s not even one that we wrote!”

 

“We’re talking about our _favourites_ to _perform_ ,” Michael argues right back, and Calum rolls his eyes.

 

He raises his hand to halt further debating, “I agree with Michael. American Idiot is fucking killer to perform, and all ‘cause you can’t keep up with the drum part doesn’t mean you should demean us.” Calum fights to hold back a smile, but Michael’s laughter starts him off on his own giggles.

 

Ashton’s jaw is dropped, offended, “That’s- It’s hard, okay?!”

 

“For an amateur,” Michael coos, and cuts the engine. Calum snickers at Ashton’s sputters, pushing open the car door and stepping onto the asphalt.

 

Michael does the same, leaving Ashton in his own bout of disbelief in the car.

 

They make their way to the bar’s entrance slowly, giving time for the eldest member of the band to catch up. He’s all frowns and pouts, but Michael and Calum prod their fingers into Ashton’s ribs until he’s his usual giggling self again.

 

Calum’s laughter catches in his throat as he realises the distinct lack of Luke in this band-ing moment.

 

“What time is it?” He asks suddenly as they trod down the stairs and into the bar itself. It’s a nice place, with carpeted flooring and high tables and booths. There’s a stage at the front, with dim lighting and a performer already up there. Immediately, they head for a booth, Michael and Ashton on one side with Calum on the opposing.

 

Neither boy had answered the question, both preoccupied with the bar’s attractions. Mikey’s eyes had wandered to the ancient music player at the back, and Ashton’s were fixed on the performer on stage, a hunched teenager with an acoustic who crooned sad songs into the microphone.

 

Rolling his eyes, Calum gets his phone out to check. 

 

9:17PM, states the digital clock in bold numerals. Calum swallows thickly, and tries not to work out how many more seconds it would be before Luke is here, too.

 

“It’s 9:17,” Ashton answers helpfully, tearing his eyes away from the teenager.

 

Calum says a wry, ‘thank you’, and the curly-headed boy just grins, ignorant to the sarcasm. He hops up quickly, claiming the first round of drinks. Again, it’s tradition. The bad feeling in Calum’s stomach ebbs away once more as nostalgia takes its place.

 

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that Ashton always gets the first round?”

 

Michael sounds thoughtful, probably more than he should be over such a simple query. Calum quirks his lips into an amused smile. Typical of Michael to be thinking so hard into things that didn’t really matter in the long run whilst putting off thoughts that really came into account. “I dunno, he kind of had to get the first and all the rounds back in 2011,” Calum laughs, and Michael joins in.

 

“God, you’re right. We were such smalls, back then,” Michael sighs, resting his cheek onto his palm. His elbow is resting on the table.

 

Calum raises an eyebrow, “Such smalls?”

 

“Yeah, such smalls! The good times when it was only Ashton who was six feet,” Michael snickers, tracing mindless shapes on the table top, “And now it’s Ashton who’s _only_ six feet.” Calum beams at his play of words, fondness spreading in his chest. He’s known Michael since Year 3, and… well, that means a lot to Calum.

 

They’re discussing the pros and cons of a Harry Potter marathon for that weekend when Ashton interrupts, setting down their drinks with a bubbly giggle.

 

“What we talkin’ about?” He falls easily into the seat beside Michael, cheeks flushed red, and Calum’s pretty sure the curly-headed boy has already taken one or two shots at the bar. “Harry Potter marathon this weekend, yay or nay?” Michael answers, and Ashton lights up.

 

“Yay! Definitely yay! Woohoo, levicorpus! Incendio, lumos, fenestra!!!”

 

“Okay, buddy,” Calum laughs, leaning back into his seat as his fingers wrap around the glass, “I guess it’s a yay for that idea then,” Calum confirms, raising his glass to knock lightly with Michael’s.

 

It’s easy to fall back into conversation with Ashton and Michael, even easier to delve into the comforts of alcohol, but Calum can’t resist from jabbing at his phone’s home button at least a dozen times, just to catch the time. The disappointment in his belly increases as the clock drags away from the designated 9:30 in slow minutes, and he shakes his head.

 

It’s only at their third round when Luke finally makes an appearance, the time being 10:12. Calum knows, he’d checked. 

 

“Look who finally decided to turn up,” Michael raises an eyebrow, though he’s not too bothered. He manoeuvres out of his seat, dodging past Ashton’s knees, and pulls Luke into a welcoming hug.

 

The tall blonde smiles, returning the embrace before stepping back coolly. Ashton, always one for a drunken cuddle, steps into Luke’s space next, looping his arms loosely around Luke’s middle. “Dance with me,” He insists, and Luke rolls his eyes fondly, ruffling at Ashton’s curls. “Maybe later,” Luke assures, and gives Ashton’s shoulder a squeeze before pulling away.

 

All the while, Calum is staring at his half-finished drink. The liquid is still, and Calum reaches out to swirl the glass. Luke hovers expectantly, awaiting his hug, but Calum refuses.

 

The alcohol seems to have accentuated his petty childishness, and Calum delves into the simplistic ways of the ‘cold shoulder’.

 

“Cal?” Luke sounds put out, and Calum finally drags his gaze from the liquid that has fallen still once more. “I deserve a hug, come on, buddy.” And Luke’s teasing him, opening his arms. It’s a joke to him. Calum pushes away his drink just to see the liquid ripple, and frowns. Michael and Ashton have disappeared off to the bar, presumably for more drinks, and Calum just stares up blankly at Luke.

 

“You’re late. Like- Double late. You’re later than the time you designated for you being late,” And his words slur slightly, and Luke’s arms fall by his side.

 

He looks confused, and Calum seethes. What was confusing about letting down your friends on the special anniversary of your band’s togetherness? Calum could see nothing, and therefore no reason to play nice.

 

Luke frowns now, “‘m sorry, C. I didn’t mean to be late to this, I know how much it means to you. And Ashton and Michael,” He adds hastily. “And it means a lot to me, too. That’s why I struggled with the bus routes to make it all the way here, on time or not.”

 

He’s slipped into the seat beside Calum, arm stretched out behind them, and Calum allows this with a petulant pout.

 

“You took the bus?” His resolve is letting up, and Luke can tell, nodding his head solemnly.

 

His blue eyes are huge, puppy-dog like, and Calum crumbles beneath Luke’s gaze. He slumps against the blonde boy, nudging his nose against the crook of Luke’s neck, breathing him in. Calum scrunches his nose at the strong perfume that must be Arzaylea’s, and delves into the musky scent beneath of cologne and peppermint. Calum smiles, Luke’s arm around going around his waist.

 

“Forgive me?” Luke sounds so sweet, and he pulls away just to look into Calum’s eyes, and how can Calum be angry at that? He nods his head, and Luke beams.

 

“Good,” Luke reaches for Calum’s drink, downing the rest of it in one go. Calum doesn’t protest, just watches the line of Luke’s throat as his Adam’s apple bobs. “Now, how about a dance, m’lady?” And Calum feigns annoyance, batting Luke’s grabby hands away.

 

In the end, Luke succeeds in drawing Calum out to the empty dance floor, in which he settles his hands on Calum’s hips, and Calum’s arms naturally loop around Luke’s neck.

 

Any sense of frustration has washed away as Luke and Calum slow dance the night away.

 

-

 

**CTH, 10:43AM**

hiiiiiii.

 

**LRH, 3:21PM**

Lol hi calum.

 

**CTH, 3:23PM**

Wow. Speedy reply, luk

 

**LRH, 3:26PM**

Hahahah sorryyy. What’s up?

 

**CTH, 3:26PM**

wanna come over? Haven’t played Fifa in agessss. :-)

 

**LRH, 3:31PM**

Ahhh can’t, cal. I’m really sorry :/ got plans. i’ll see u this weekdn tho.

 

Calum frowns, the hand that’s not holding his phone squeezed tight around the PS4 controller. He locks his phone, and tosses it onto the bed, out of arm’s reach, and plays FIFA by himself.

 

-

 

“Ok, we all know it’s impossible to watch through the entire Harry Potter series in one sitting, so I took the time to designate the good ones.”

 

“What, that’s not fair!” Michael’s eyebrows furrow, his lower lip coming out, and Ashton just glares down at him, one hand on his hip and the other clutching five CDs. “It’s not about fair, Michael, it’s about me being the biggest Harry Potter fan here, and therefore me being the one who’s opinion matters most!” Ashton reasons, although not very well.

 

Michael narrows his eyes, “If you were the biggest fan, which you’re not, you’d like all the films equally. I, as a matter of fact, do! And when forced upon, can properly choose the best films from the bunch.”

 

“You just said that a real fan wouldn’t be able to choose,” Ashton argues.

 

“No, I said the _biggest_ fan wouldn’t be able to choose. And obviously, the biggest fan is Calum,” Michael says indignantly, and Ashton scoffs.

 

Calum looks up from his phone at the mention of his name, bored. He’d been listening in the whole time, even watched from the couch as Ashton rummaged through their DVD shelf, but feigned ignorance. He’s no time for Michael and Ashton’s mindless bickering. Calum’s less concerned about which films they watch, but more so where Luke is.

 

Ashton darts his pointed gaze unto Calum now, and he shifts his weight, speaking dramatically harsh, “It’s true, then? You’re the biggest Harry Potter fan here?”

 

“You guys are children,” Is Calum’s only response, and Michael and Ashton immediately pipe up with, “Nuh-uh!”, simultaneously. Calum would laugh, but his mind is plagued by Luke’s absence. “Which films did you pick?” Calum thinks maybe, if they started to actually delve into the first movie, he’d stop feeling so upset. “The Philosopher’s Stone, obviously, and the Prisoner of Azkaban, then the Goblet of Fire, and then the Deathly Hallows.”

 

“Part one or part two?” Michael demands.

 

Ashton frowns, “Both. It’s technically one movie, so it shouldn’t be- Like, split up. Or count as two, ya’know?”

 

“No, I _don’t_ know. They’re two different movies. Part one and part two. See the helpful numbers there? Part one, part two. Part uno, part dos. First. Second. Two. It’s two films.”

 

“It’s the same thing,” Calum decides, and Michael’s jaw drops and Ashton lets out a whoop, raising his hand for a high-five. Michael disrupts it, batting at Ashton’s hand with a dramatised war-cry. Calum huffs in annoyance as Michael nearly elbows him, shifting away from his hyper-active mess of a best friend. At this, Michael throws a mildly hurt glance at Calum for moving away, so Calum gives in and takes Michael’s hand in his as a truce. He laces their fingers comfortingly, and can’t help but smile as Michael beams. “Okay, those movies sound pretty good to me, Ash. Go ahead,” Calum directs, and Ashton looks like he wants to comment on Calum’s bossiness, but opts to put ‘the Philosopher’s Stone’, on instead.

 

Michael doesn’t object, staying silent and resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. Calum just rolls his eyes, knowing the older boy is too proud to admit Ashton’s choices are good, and probably what he would’ve chosen, too.

 

“Should we wait for Luke?” Calum can’t help but ask, regretting as soon as the words come out. Great, now he sounds clingy.

 

“Oh, he’s not coming.” Ashton says casually, dodging around the coffee table to drop into the seat beside Calum, squashing him in the middle of a band-sandwich, excluding Luke.

 

“What?” Calum’s surprised, and not pleasantly. Luke had promised just a few hours earlier he’d be there. And he’d also promised at the bar, just four days ago. He even mentioned it in the text from yesterday. Michael shifts beside him to get a better look at Ashton, “What?” He echoes, and Ashton shrugs, watching Calum carefully, to which Calum shifts uncomfortably. “He said he’d already had plans with Roy, so he couldn’t make it.”

 

Calum furrows his eyebrows, “When did he tell you that?” _And why didn’t he tell me_ , Calum frowns.

 

He’s looking side-ways at Ashton, trying not to show how much he cares, and the curly-headed boy shrugs again, getting defensive. “I dunno, ok? Like, earlier? He called me to tell, and I said it was fine. Is it not fine?” Ashton sends a narrow-eyed look at him, and Calum flushes.

 

“Of course it’s fine,” Calum huffs, and turns away from Ashton. His cheeks are burning.

 

Ashton’s gaze remains on him for a few more seconds, Calum can see from his peripherals, see the wheels turning in Ashton’s head, thinks, ‘oh god, oh god, he knows, he _knows_ ’, but Mikey’s excited yelling and the introduction to Harry Potter distracts Ashton. Calum’s grateful, lets out the breath he’d been holding.

 

But his cheeks don’t stop burning. Not from the embarrassment, but from anger, well into the night.

 

-

 

Monday morning is a start to a new week, and begins with a phone call.

 

Reaching blindly for his phone, Calum clasps his fingers around it, tugging it to his ear and cursing as the charger unplugs roughly. He hopes the wiring isn’t too harassed, as he’s gone through at least 5, already.

 

“What?” He answers without checking caller ID, cranky and uncooperative.

 

Calum doesn’t care who’s on the line, they’re about to get an earful of cusses and lecturing. 8AM is not a healthy hour to be up on a Monday, and he opens his mouth to voice this.

 

“Cal, hey.”

 

And, oh. It’s Luke. _Come crawling back_ , Calum thinks to himself bitterly, but the butterflies in his tummy outweigh the toad in his gut. He shifts up onto his elbow, curious now. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” He asks coolly, and he’s grateful for the sleepy tinge in his voice, guising him as disinterested.

 

“Is this a bad time?” Luke asks gently, and Calum can only hear the soft murmurs in the background.

 

‘Babe, your coffee’s on the table,’ is muffled and quiet, but Calum makes out the words with steady concentration. His heart aches in his chest as Luke mutters a, “Thanks, Lea,” crystal clear in his ear.

 

Calum wishes Luke had said ‘babe’ or ‘bubba’ or literally any pet name, just so Calum could pretend it was him Luke was talking to. “Uh, no,” Calum struggles to keep the waver from his voice, and answers unsteadily when the silence stretches too long.

 

“Ok, well, I wanted to call and apologise for not being able to make it on Saturday.”

 

“Huh? Apologise? What for?” Calum cringes at his attempt at ignorance, but hey, it’s 8 in the fucking morning on a _Monday_. He’s got no time for award-winning performances.

 

Luke sighs, “You know what for, C. I know I’d told you I’d be there.” _Three times_ , Calum says, but only in his head, where the jealousy is kept safe and sound. Well, not really sound, but whatever. “And it was a dick move to cancel last minute, but Roy was really buzzing about heading out, and I didn’t want to shoot him down…”

 

“So you shot us down instead?” Calum’s tone is accusing, “Even though we scheduled this hang-out 4 days in advance and not 4 minutes in advance?” Calum questions, and his tone transitions from cool to _cold_.

 

There’s a sharp intake of breath over the phone, and Calum holds his own in.

 

“I’m trying to apologise here, Cal.” Luke forces out, and Calum can’t help but bark out a laugh. “I’m glad you’re taking the higher road here, _Lukey_ ,” Calum says, attempting to ooze every bit of sarcasm into his sentence, especially the nickname, “Good on you, no really, good fucking job.”

 

Luke’s silent for a moment, and Calum returns the favour.

 

“It’s obviously not a very good time,” Luke finally states quietly, and, “Next time, then… I’ll- I’ll call you next time.”

 

There’s a click on the line, and Calum’s left in silence.

 

At least he can go back to sleep, but the toad in his gut grows, and he doesn’t.

 

-

 

There is no promised ‘next time’ for a long while. The days drag by, blending slowly into weeks, and Calum doesn’t receive a text from Luke unless it’s from the group chat.

 

**LRH, 12:43PM**

guys?? What to do if you mix the colours of laundry and shit and your clothes become different colours?? Help please!!!

 

Calum snorts at the text, is about to reply, realises he’s mad at Luke, catches himself, and stops typing. It’s a whirlwind of emotions, and he sets his phone down, weary. Frankly, Calum’s quite sick of the immediate jolt in his tummy whenever he sees Luke’s name, and he’s pretty sick of the immediate drop in his tummy when he realises it’s the group chat.

 

It’s a pot of brewing emotions, almost all negative, and Calum hates it. He hates it, hates it, hates it.

 

Such anger is abnormal for a happy-go-lucky soul like Calum, so he calls Ashton to revive him. He’s no Luke, but he’s damn well close enough (and actually texts back).

 

**CTH, 12:47PM**

hey ashtralia wanna hang??? ;)

 

Suppressing his frustration, Calum forces a smile unto his face and attempts to cheer himself up for Ashton. It’s the least he can do for the curly-headed ball of energy, always down to hang out and _never negligent of Calum for his girlfriend_. Not like he has one, but whatever, it’s just another bonus about Ashton. Plus, they fucking live together. He can’t possibly say no.

 

**LRH, 12:50PM**

wooow there’s PM for a reason. GLAD TO HAVE WITNESSED THIS BETRAYL!!!!!!!

 

And, shit. Calum had messaged the group chat by mistake.

 

**MGC, 12:50PM**

LOL THANKSSS CAL u dropped from my bffs list. Ur now seventh place.

 

 _Keep cool_ , Calum tells himself, thumbing at his keyboard before typing out a response, adopting a jokey tone.

 

**CTH, 12:53PM**

Do you even have that many friends, Mike? Didn’t think so!

 

**MGC, 12:54PM**

Why u type w/ good grmamr ?? Me: intimidatd

 

 

**CTH, 12:55PM**

jes us christ

 

**AFI, 12:55PM**

U called? ;)

 

**CTH, 12:56PM**

GE T OTU

 

**MGC, 12:56PM**

DIE IRNWIN

 

**LRH, 12:57PM**

should I leave the chat? Wouldn’t want to intrude on hashtag cashton

 

Calum frowns.

 

**MGC, 12:57PM**

why did you say hashtah why don’t u just do #

 

**LRH, 12:58PM**

why don’t u just hashtag leave me alone??!

 

**CTH, 12:59PM**

‘cause you’re the one who leaves us alone lololol

 

**AFI, 1:01PM**

woah

 

**MGC, 1:01PM**

woah x2… sensitive call?? U ok Callum?? U need me to come w/ ice cream column? i love u clam

 

**CTH, 1:02PM**

love u more cuzmuffin :’)

 

**LRH, 1:02PM**

dont botherrrr mikes, cal’s got ashton now.

 

**AFI, 1:03PM**

woah

 

**MGC, 1:03PM**

woah x6

 

**MGC, 1:03PM**

wait how many woahs has it been LOL

 

**CTH, 1:04PM**

too many, cause luke apparently has something UP HIS ARSE?

 

**CTH, 1:04PM**

don’t say woah ashton

 

**AFI, 1:05PM**

yikes

 

**MGC, 1:05PM**

woah

 

**MGC, 1:05PM**

FUCK

 

**AFI, 1:06PM**

LOL

 

**AFI, 1:06PM**

btw luke [https://www.cleanipedia.com/gb/laundry-washing/remove-pink-stains-white-clothes](https://www.cleanipedia.com/gb/laundry-washing/remove-pink-stains-white-clothes)

 

**MGC, 1:07PM**

oih my gid

 

**CTH, 1:07PM**

oh my god.

 

**LRH, 1:08PM**

This is why I love u ash

 

**MGC, 1:08PM**

I dunno… that was pretty…

 

**MGC, 1:08PM**

daddy

 

**CTH, 1:08PM**

daddy

 

**CTH, 1:08PM**

MIHAEL SAM E

 

**MGC, 1:08PM**

BR ROO HAHAHA FRKNJKM

 

**AFI, 1:09PM**

GUYS.

 

**MGC, 1:09PM**

yes daddy ;)

 

In a separate chat, Ashton private messages Calum.

 

**AFI, 1:10PM**

i will hang out with u… on one condition

 

**CTH, 1:10PM**

Shoot

 

**AFI, 1:11PM**

do not call me daddy again

 

**CTH, 1:11PM**

U didn’t let me finish my text

 

**AFI, 1:12PM**

oh sorry, what were u gna say

 

**CTH, 1:12PM**

shoot… ur semen, daddy

 

Calum hears a slam from the room down the hall, and he laughs, Luke shoved at the back of his thoughts as Ashton pads down the hallway, and throws Calum’s room-door open.

 

“This _needs_ to stop,” Ashton demands, holding his phone up so Calum can see the open text conversation to himself on Ashton’s phone. “I’m serious,” Ashton insists as Calum begins to laugh, and Ashton even stomps his foot. “The daddy joke has been taken way too far,” Ashton continues as Calum turns red from laughter.

 

“I love you- No, I’m in love with you. God, I love you, Ash.”

 

“Fuck you,” Ashton grumbles, letting Calum’s room door fall shut as he climbs under the duvet, shoving his curly head into Calum’s lap. “Play with my hair,” Ashton commands, and Calum rolls his eyes, but obliges.

 

He smooths out the knots, falling into a rhythm as he cards his fingers through, and the older sighs, content.

 

Silence envelopes them for a moment, before Ashton breaks it. “You know, we haven’t written anything for a bit,” He says thoughtfully, and Calum hums in agreement. “We’ve been home for a while now… Maybe we should get writing again? Ya’know, get ahead of Mike and Lukey,” Ashton grins, and Calum tugs gently on his curls.

 

“Hmm… I wouldn’t mind that,” Calum admits, removing his hand from Ashton’s hair, “We _are_ the song-writing dream team, after all.”

 

Ashton snorts, “Yeah, ‘cause our competition is a high-school dropout and someone who can’t differentiate ‘you’re’ and ‘your’.” Calum bursts out into giggles at Ashton’s bluntness, and wants to smother the older in affectionate kisses.

 

He sighs, instead.

 

Life would be so much easier if he was actually in love with Ashton, so he says it out loud.

 

“You got the wrong blonde, buddy,” Ashton says gently, and Calum freezes. Ashton’s quiet, but turns so he can look up at Calum, and smiles shakily. “Sorry, I know you’re- I just… I notice, that’s all.”

 

“Notice what?” Calum attempts, but his throat is dry and he sucks at lying. Especially to Ashton.

 

Ashton doesn’t call him out, instead answers him seriously, “I notice how you look at him, Cal. And how upset you are now that he’s… drifting. You’re my best friend- You… You weren’t going to hide it forever, were you?” Calum hangs his head, shame making his cheeks flush red, and Ashton frowns, “Of course I’d- Obviously I’d pick up on things. I love you, C, I _care_.”

 

“Thanks,” It’s the only thing Calum can say. He can feel tears of frustration and humiliation burning his eyes, and he jostles Ashton’s head out of his lap carefully, slipping off of the bed to stand up.

 

He isn’t going anywhere, doesn’t know where to go, but he can’t look down into Ashton’s eyes when he’s addressing… this. Calum hadn’t expected _this_. Not at all, and he can feel himself slipping, succumbing to the tears.

 

Calum blinks once, and the pressure is enough for weeks (Months? Years?) of frustration to roll down his cheek in a single drop, and the floodgates burst.

 

And Calum’s not an emotional guy, mind you, he really isn’t. He’s careful with himself. He doesn’t let himself watch those horrible videos of circus animals or dwell on sad books or think of his family too much when he’s overseas, and he most certainly doesn’t allow himself to cry over… Luke. This is a brand new low, a brand new fucking low.

 

“Cal,” Ashton stands from the bed, stepping closer cautiously.

 

He’s only ever seen Calum crying twice. Maybe thrice, because again, Calum’s fucking _careful_. Each time, though, he’d sighed, bundled Calum in his arms, and let Calum sob it out. This time, Calum hopes, won’t be any different, and he’s prepared to sink into Ashton’s hug. Ashton acts as presumed, and steps into Calum’s space to wrap his arms tightly around Calum’s middle, anchoring him to his own sad reality.

 

“How long?” The question catches Calum off-guard, and a sob escapes his throat.

 

The question is like rubbing salt into wounds.

 

How long has it _really_ been?

 

He thinks of Year 7, when he’d been stick thin and Luke had still had his baby fat. He thinks of big blue eyes and wide, toothy smiles. The flick at the end of Luke’s nose, a hook that Luke himself despised and Calum adored. He thinks of Luke’s slender fingers on battered guitars, of bags under sleepy eyes on long December nights. He thinks of the breeze through Luke’s hair when Calum had first gotten his license and driven them halfway around the town, windows rolled down and blaring Green Day. He thinks of the holes in Luke’s lip where pink skin used to be, replaced by cool metal. He thinks of long, gangly legs and unruly, baby curls at the back of Luke’s neck, when a haircut was long overdue. He thinks of the sparkle in Luke’s eyes when they’d met All Time Low for the first time, and thought of the way Luke had almost squeezed his hand to numbness. He thinks of the shy, quiet boy who’d duck his head in embarrassment, cheeks rosy. He thinks of the loud, boisterous laughter of a hyperactive Luke, who talked Calum’s ears into next week. He thinks of the hunched, droopy-eyed daze of a sleepy blonde, and he thinks of the chirpy, quirky Luke, always full of jokes.

 

Mostly, he thinks of the big blue eyes, and the feathery, golden hair, and realises that it had always been Luke. _Has_ always been Luke. He has never not loved Luke, not since he’d met him.

 

Calum’s throat closes up, and he gasps for air. It’s too much.

 

Ashton’s arms just squeeze him tighter, and he really wants to melt into the floor, disappear forever, wants to hate Ashton for asking this. This whole thing, it- It was too bloody embarrassing. How did a simple conversation about Ashton’s daddy kink turn into _this_?

 

Everything is spiralling downhill, and fast.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Calum chokes out, and Ashton tenses up, but doesn’t stop smoothing his hand in soothing circles on Calum’s back.

 

“It matters, Cal,” He whispers, swaying them back and forth, and Calum’s leaning completely on Ashton now, wishing and praying to fall in love with him instead, in this moment, God, it’d be so much easier, “It matters. It matters, matters, matters.” Ashton insists, and Calum shuts his eyes.

 

His heart constricts, and another sob escapes.

 

“It matters.”

 

And, yeah, Calum knows, because seven years is seven years too long to be in love with someone.

 

To be in love with Luke.

 

-

 

The thing is, though, Calum’s known for a while. Maybe not for the seven years, but for most of it.

 

He’d already been through the whole denying phase, when he was thirteen, in which he’d put off their friendship as purely platonic. But then he’d had a big cry over Luke going off on a date with some girl in Year 10, blasting sad songs from his speakers, and thought, _Ok, maybe not so straight_. And after that, Calum had… accepted it. Slowly, of course. And then there was that… confirmation thing. His confession, or whatever. He’d looked into the mirror hanging from his closet door, Billie Joe singing about a City of the Damned from his laptop, and said it aloud.

 

“I’m gay,” He’d told his reflection, who told him right back.

 

And? Well, it was barely a weight being lifted off his shoulders, but it was something off his chest. Calum had felt better, and was able to look Luke in the eye without wanting to burst into tears.

 

He’d suppressed the hurt and jealousy and animosity and longing when Luke began dating the girl - Aleisha, her name was. Calum had forced a laugh, given Luke a fist bump, and congratulated him, “Good job, bro.” Standard, really.

 

And that was that.

 

The years had gone by, they’d become a proper band after inviting Ashton in, they’d started small shows, hit it big, and got famous. Calum had supported Luke through his break-up with Aleisha, and bit his lip whenever the words, ‘I’m in love with you’, threatened to spill out. The words stopped trying to escape after a while, maybe three years, and Calum relaxed.

 

He relaxed, and got used to the feeling of being hopelessly in love with Luke.

 

It numbed.

 

-

 

So, now Ashton knows.

 

He’s nice about it, though, tries not to bring it up but does so nicely if he can’t help it. Calum attempts to answer Ashton’s questions as best he can, with a weary smile on his face and a droop in his shoulders. Otherwise, they talk about other things.

 

Ashton shifts beside him.

 

“D’you still wanna write? Or- Or, we can just, ya’know, watch Mean Girls until we all asleep,” Ashton offers, with a shaky laugh. Calum feels a squeeze at his heart, so much appreciation for his curly-headed friend. He thinks maybe… Maybe it won’t be so bad with someone to talk to.

 

Maybe the dirty little secret isn’t so dirty anymore now it’s a secret between two.

 

“Yeah, I could write,” Calum agrees, squeezing Ashton’s thigh. They’re seated side by side on Calum’s bed, cross-legged with their backs against his headboard. It’s nice, in a way, Calum’s head falling onto Ashton, his tears soaking the older’s shoulder. It’s easier to talk like that, when Calum doesn’t have to face Ashton’s curious eyes, pitiful and sad.

 

Ashton slides an arm easily around his shoulder, and squeezes him close, “Ok. We’ll write, then. We’ll write it out,” And he’s standing, stretching out his cramped legs.

 

Calum smiles slightly, and follows in suit, bones bopping uncomfortably in his knees.

 

“I’ll meet you on the balcony,” Calum suggests, and Ashton just nods, offering a quick smile, and disappears to retrieve his notebook, probably. Calum takes a deep breath when he’s gone, and wipes at his dry eyes, the skin raw and probably red. He takes a moment to gather himself, eyes falling shut to rebuild himself temporarily, seeking the stability he’d so carefully crafted around his love for Luke.

 

Calum opens his eyes after some seconds, and like most days, suppresses the emotions that bubble in his chest.

 

Deeming himself ‘ok’ after a quick face-wash in the bathroom, Calum grabs a guitar by the neck, lifting it from its stand near his bed. He nicks the worn notebook from his cluttered desk, feeling the frayed weightiness of it, and makes his way to the balcony as promised, where Ashton’s already seated in one of the chairs.

 

He has a mug in his hand, probably filled with what he calls his, ‘helps-me-to-write’ drink, which in simpler terms, is coffee filled with cups of sugar.

 

The small table in front of him has his writing notebook, some pencils, and a matching mug.

 

Pushing open the balcony door, Calum steps out and takes the seat opposite Ashton. The sun is out, weak and disrupted by fat clouds.

 

“I took the time and effort to make _your_ ‘helps-me-to-write’ drink,” Ashton informs, and Calum rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Ash, pouring Coke Zero into a mug must be a great deal of work, I applaud you,” Calum says solemnly, and Ashton just pouts.

 

“Okay, Mr Sarcastic,” Ashton huffs, and Calum laughs.

 

The tension from earlier has lifted, now they’re out in the open air. Calum can breathe without the fear of suffocating.

 

“I’ve got some ideas already,” Calum starts, and Ashton shifts to straighten, schooling his face into a serious expression as they begin song-discussions, “I haven’t figured out the chords or music for it, but I’ve got lyrics.” Calum finishes, jostling the acoustic in his lap and sifting through the tattered book. It’s in bad condition, probably from being stuffed under his bed on the bus for years, but Calum likes it.

 

Ashton makes grabby hands for the notebook, and Calum hesitates briefly, eyes scanning the lyrics before handing the words, and his heart, over.

 

He knows what’s written on there, and he knows it’ll bring back the pity in Ashton’s eyes.

 

But he’s needed to channel this… this _feeling_ out for years, and yet another song on the album might do the trick in relieving some pain. Ashton takes a moment or two before responding, eyes flicking over the page in eyebrow-furrowed concentration, and when he finally looks up, there’s no pity in his eyes, only sadness, and Calum offers a shaky smile.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Ashton mumbles, “Honestly. I’ve never- I mean, you’ve written heavy before but… Never like this. I like it.”

 

Calum warms at the compliment despite its context, and ducks his head with a muttered, “Thanks.”

 

“You sure you wanna put this one on an album?”

 

And, well.

 

“Yeah,” Calum finally says, following an internal argument with himself. “Yeah, I want to, Ash.”

 

“Then let’s figure out some chords,” Ashton grins.

 

They spend almost an hour deciding what backing to lay. Calum sings familiar words to a foreign tone, over and over until they get it right. He’s passed on the guitar to Ashton, who’s really very handy with a steel-string, and together, repeated riffs and strained singing voices have filled the evening air.

 

Lyrics are added onto the little scribbles on Calum’s notebook, and copied over neatly into Ashton’s. It’s their song, but it’s Calum’s heart.

 

“Ok, I think you should sing it once over,” Ashton suggests, and Calum wonders if there may be slight indents on the older boy’s fingers from pressing too hard into repetitive chords for nearly an hour. Calum just agrees silently, swallowing the dryness of his throat and counting in with a soft, “One, two, three,” for Ashton to start playing.

 

It’s a heavy melody, and the steel-string works hard to keep up. Calum swallows once more, and begins to sing.

 

“So, let’s stop with these words, they’re turning cold,

An abrupt goodbye turns to prolonged hellos,

Still, I have the things that we’ve had from the start,

Two broken half-souls and a rusting guitar,

 

I’ve been feeling so ill, is this all in my thoughts,

When things that once mattered become things you forgot,

 

I’m not trying to call you out,

It’s just you sound like her when you open your mouth,

And I can hardly fucking stand it,”

 

Finishing the hook, Calum struggles to start the chorus at all, and gives up after he chokes. The pieces of a mismatched song have come together in perfect portrayal of the feeling in his chest, and he can’t handle it.

 

The strumming stops, and Ashton frowns, “You okay, C?”

 

Calum leans forward, elbows digging into his knees, and covers his face with both hands.

 

It takes a long while to gather himself, and when he does, tears have welled in his eyes, and Ashton’s breath hitches. Calum takes a deep breath, startling and unsteady, and words come out in a whoosh of air.

 

“I… I can’t live like this anymore.” _I can’t live being in love with Luke_.

 

And all Ashton can do is hold him in his arms when the tears start to fall.

 

-

 

It’s a Thursday when Calum hears from Luke again.

 

He’s out with Mitchy at the coffee shop down the street, listening to an animated retelling of Mitchy’s weekend, when Calum’s phone starts to buzz. Mitchy stops with a pout, and Calum smiles sheepishly before answering his phone.

 

“What’s up?” He greets cheerfully, holding back a laugh as Mitchy starts making faces at him.

 

“Calum, it’s me.”

 

And, fuck, Calum should really start checking caller ID instead of blindly answering his phone. The shock must show on his face, because Mitchy stops with the faces and frowns, mouthing a quick, “Who’s that?” Calum just shakes his head, raises his hand to gesture ‘give me a second,’ before ducking out of the coffee shop.

 

“Cal? You there, mate?”

 

Calum slips into the alley just beside the cafe, and leans against the brick wall, “Yeah, Luke, I’m here.” He answers softly.

 

There’s shuffling from the other end, “Thought I lost you there, bud. I- How are ya?”

 

“How am I?” Calum frowns.

 

“Yeah, how… How are you? It’s been a while.”

 

Calum snorts, “It’s been a little more than a while, Luke. You haven’t talked to me for weeks.”

 

“You haven’t talked to me either!” Luke explodes suddenly, and Calum flinches, instinctively holding the phone away from his ear for a second. He can’t do this, he really can’t. Not when he’s out and about with a friend, feeling good and aloof, not a care in the world. Not against the grimy bricks of an alleyway, phone clenched tight in one hand and a clump of hair in the other. Not ever.

 

“Calum?”

 

“What do you want, Luke?” Calum asks harshly, and he’s tired. So tired.

 

Luke sighs, having gathered himself together from the outburst, “Sorry for snapping, I- I just- I want to be your friend again, Cal. Not just some guy you’re in a band with but barely even fucking talk to. I miss you, I really fucking miss you.”

 

Calum can’t help the hitch in his breath at how upset Luke sounds.

 

 _Serves him right_ , Calum thinks.

 

“Look, we’re friends, Luke,” And it kind of hurts to remember that that’s all they are, all they ever will be, “I promise. You just said you’d call me ‘next time’ and I didn’t want to push you, so.”

 

It’s a false explanation but it would have to do.

 

Luke, thankfully, doesn’t call bullshit, just sighs again. “I didn’t want to push _you_ ,” And he’s laughing, probably thinking that things are all fine and mighty again. Calum wants to tell him how wrong he really is, but in a way, kind of feels selfish. So he laughs along, albeit slightly strenuous, but it’s a chuckle nonetheless. “We’re so dumb,” Calum feigns more laughter.

 

“I can’t believe it was just a giant misunderstanding, God, I love you, C. Please don’t leave me for that long again.”

 

“Hah, yeah. A misunderstanding. So dumb.”

 

“What are you doing right now? Can I- I really wanna see you, Cal. We can have that game of Fifa!”

 

Calum’s heart flutters, but he suppresses it, thinks of Mitchy sitting alone in the cafe, waiting on him. He thinks of Luke, with his big eyes and slanted smirk, Calum’s heart held in his hand. “I’m a little busy right now,” Calum forces himself to admit, forces himself not to jump at the opportunity, “… but, I can do tomorrow?” And oh fuck, he’s weak. So fucking weak.

 

“Great! Tomorrow’s just fine,” Luke chirps, and Calum muffles a groan. “I’ll see you then, C. Love you!”

 

“Love you too,” Calum mumbles, and the line goes dead.

 

He’s slipped into a balled up position when Mitchy finds him. The floor is hard and uncomfortable, but Calum just pouts, and Mitchy sighs, rolls his eyes, and helps Calum up, doesn’t address the torment that Calum is going through as they continue on with their day.

 

Calum’s glad for the little bit of ignorance, although faked, because he’s really slightly sick of Ashton’s knowing looks of pity.

 

-

 

“Calum.”

 

Calum ignores the call of his name, focusing on analysing his nail beds, wondering if he should’ve filed them before leaving the house.

 

“Cal?”

 

Still, he flicks at his fingers, even humming along to the song on the radio.

 

“Calum!”

 

And, wow. He should’ve filed his nails. They naturally take on a weird shape, much too square for Calum’s liking, and he pouts slightly now that the chance is missed. Oh well, he can alwa-

 

“Calum, I know you can hear me and I know you know that I know that you hung out with Luke again,” Ashton finally addresses the elephant in the room - or car, whatever - and Calum can see his fingers tighten over the wheel. Calum just grunts. He’s all too aware that Ashton knows about him and Luke’s ‘bro-date’, as Luke had called it, and he’s been avoiding this conversation. He’d even invited Michael over to stay the past few nights, just so he didn’t have to be alone with Ash, and Ashton had glared at him all throughout.

 

‘You’re not sly,’ Ashton had hissed whilst Michael disappeared to the bathroom for five minutes and Calum and Ashton were alone in the living room.

 

Fuck, he had been desperate to avoid this.

 

Ashton successfully corners him, though, now they’re alone in the car, on the way to Jack Barakat’s party. There’s no particular reason for the party, probably just Jack feeling like he’s too old again. Mikey had rejected the carpool idea, wanting to ‘flex his giant car guns’ as he’d referred to it.

 

Probably something stupid.

 

“Don’t grunt at me,” Ashton huffs, flicking on the turning signal as he makes a sharp left. “I want answers, Cal. You said you were done.”

 

“I say a lot of things,” Calum mumbles.

 

Ashton gives him a sharp punch on the knee, and Calum whines, batting the older’s hand away, “Don’t, Ash!” And Ashton just gives him an accusing look, which almost gets them killed when a car swerves in front of theirs, cutting them off. Ashton swears, eyes glued back onto the road, and Calum’s relieved to be rid of that glare. And relieved they hadn’t died.

 

“Seriously, Cal? I’m not asking you to… dump him as a friend. I’m asking you to get over him, for yourself,” Ashton pleads, and Calum sinks into his seat, staring out the window.

 

They’re almost at Jack’s house.

 

“I am over him.” Calum claims, and at the disbelieving look that Ashton risks him, rephrases his statement, “I _will_ get over him! Just- If I didn’t hang out with him that would’ve counted as dumping him as a friend. And I’m not about that life, Ashton.”

 

There’s a silence, and Calum feels a prickle at the back of his neck. Most likely shame.

 

Ashton pulls onto the side of the road, and Calum’s anxious that Ashton might just be ditching him here, until he realises Ashton’s parked. He releases a breath, relaxing.

 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt, Calum.”

 

And Calum tenses up once more, shoulders drawing tight.

 

“I really don’t fucking like it,” Ashton sighs, and he hasn’t let go of the wheel yet, hasn’t even turned off the car. Calum swallows thickly. “And every time you’re around him- Fuck, every fucking time he leaves, you- You get this look on your face. Like a kid on Christmas with no presents, like a dog who’s failed at catching his own tail. I can’t deal with it, Calum.”

 

And well then.

 

“I’m _so_ sorry you have to struggle with that, Ashton.” Calum says coldly.

 

Ashton goes rigid, and he closes his eyes, frustrated. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

 

“Then what did you mean?” Calum snaps, and undoes his seatbelt clumsily, with shaking fingers. Anger is coursing off of him in waves, but it’s not at Ashton, God no. It’s at himself.

 

A hand goes out to rest on his knee, halting his movements, and Calum flinches, Ashton’s palm scorching. “Don’t, Cal. Don’t,” Ashton begs, and Calum shifts uncomfortably, the tip of his ears burning. He doesn’t know what Ashton’s asking for, but he’s pretty sure it has to do with Luke.

 

“Can we just- Can you forget about it?” When Ashton opens his mouth to most probably protest, Calum continues. “For tonight. Please, Ash, I just want to let loose tonight.”

 

He can see Ashton’s pinched expression soften, and Calum reaches out a hand to rest on Ashton’s on his knee. The scorch blurs into a comfortable warmth, and Calum can breathe once more. “Fine,” Ashton chokes out, and Calum wants to smother the guy. In hugs, of course. “Fine,” Ashton repeats, “… but we’re talking about this tomorrow.”

 

Whatever, good enough for Calum. He’d just deal with the issue tomorrow.

 

Calum sends Ashton a smile, his most grateful, adoring, appreciative smile, and Ashton gives in, smiling back.

 

They spend a moment like that, just smiling at each other, and probably look like serious fools, but Calum doesn’t care. He gives Ashton’s hand a squeeze, and the older squeezes back, before retracting his hand to cut the engine. “I care about you, ok?” Ashton huffs out, and Calum just grins, leaning over to press a kiss onto Ashton’s cheek, to which Ashton yells in protest.

 

When they make it into Jack’s house at last, Calum can immediately feel the bass thrumming in his veins as if saying hello, and Ashton seems to loosen up (finally).

 

“I’m gonna go find Feldy, I’ve been meaning to talk to him.” Ashton says, and Calum just nods blindly. Ashton leaves a squeeze on Calum’s shoulder, before disappearing off into a throng of people. It’s crowded, not so much that Calum feels uncomfortable, but the house is definitely full.

 

It’s a Barakat party after all, and most definitely non-exclusive.

 

‘The more people, the younger I feel,’ Jack had shrieked giddily at his fourty thousandth ‘I’m-having-a-mid-life-crisis-and-I-need-to-make-sure-I’m-not-old-by-partying-recklessly’ party.

 

Calum smiles fondly at the memory, and heads to the kitchen, navigating through grabby dancers and loitering people, where a selection of alcoholic drinks and sodas are ready and reliable in serving Calum through the night. He concocts a mixture of rum and coke with a little bit too much rum, and drinks it right beside the table. When the drink is gone, he repeats the process, and can barely taste the coke when he sips at beverage number two.

 

“Woah there, party hound, it’s only ten past eleven.”

 

Grinning, Calum turns around, careful not to spill his drink, and is face-to-face with the one and only Jack Barakat.

 

“Right, that’s rich coming from someone who doesn’t even bother with the sodas,” Calum laughs, and Jack’s opening his arms to coddle Calum into a bear hug. His shirt is a little sweat-soaked, but Calum doesn’t mind, one arm going around Jack’s torso to strengthen the hug.

 

He’s missed the skunk-headed freak, though the bleach blonde is now ruby-red and can no longer fit proper comparisons to the animal. Calum doesn’t care.

 

Jack pulls away, with a dizzying smile of white teeth. “The sodas are party-poopers,” He says solemnly, and Calum rolls his eyes. “Come on, we’re having a game of beer-pong and I sought you out specifically as soon as word had come that you’d arrived.” Jack insists, and he’s dragging Calum back through the crowd, and past the sliding doors, into the garden.

 

“I think you exploit my good hand,” Calum tells Jack, who only nods in agreement.

 

Calum shoves at Jack half-heartedly, but he’s giggling, already giddy with the party vibes. God, Jack really did throw good distractions.

 

“You should be so lucky that I exploit your good hand for beer-pong, and not for other activities,” Jack winks, and Calum pretends to retch, as if he hadn’t dreamed of giving Jack a hand job since he’d found out what it meant in Year 8. Jack didn’t have to know.

 

As they approach the table set up for beer pong, Jack throws up his hands in disbelief when he sees a game in full swing and huffs, “Guys, what the fuck?”

 

Taka, from ONE OK ROCK, is having his go, and turns to flash Jack a grin from over his shoulder.

 

Alex, who’s very obviously his partner in the game, is cheering Taka on, but stops to acknowledge Jack. One eyebrow raised, Alex crosses his arms, “Ya see, Barakat? This game just doesn’t wait for anyone. Not even you, buddy.”

 

“It’s my house!” Jack protests, but the party-goers brush him off with goodnatured laughter. “それを投げる, 貴寛!” (Throw it, Takahiro!) Ryota encourages, excitedly squeezing Alex’s shoulder as he slips into Japanese. “私は集中できない,” (I can not concentrate) Taka replies huffily, one eye closed as he focuses, “And speak in English, Ryota!”

 

Jack just grumbles when they don’t pay him any attention and grabs Calum by the arm, “C’mon, Hood, we’re getting out of here.” He says darkly, and Calum laughs. “Where exactly are we going?”

 

“Out of here.” Jack answers with a shrug.

 

Calum doesn’t question him, and allows Jack to lead him off into the house. He swears he sees Joe fucking Jonas smoking a blunt with Ashley Frangipane, but doesn’t have time to ask about it when Jack drags him into a room empty of people, and shuts the door behind them.

 

“Why are we in Alex’s room?” Calum frowns, recognising the bedroom though he’s only ever been in it once or twice.

 

Alex had his own house, obviously, but he was over so often that Jack cleared out a guest bedroom for him. Calum thinks it’s cute, but wonders if Alex uses the bed at all, preferring maybe, to sleep somewhere else.

 

There’s a king sized bed, the sheets untouched and bare. A bedside table is stationed on both sides, one of which has a framed picture of Jack and Alex, and one of which has a framed picture of Alex and Lisa. Calum frowns at that, but chooses not to comment. The ‘Alex and Lisa’ picture hadn’t been there the last time Calum was here.

 

“It’s a nice place to talk, don’t you think?” Jack says ominously after Calum’s look around, heading over to the window that looks into the garden. It’s tinted, so a viewer can watch from in the bedroom but nobody can see in from outside. There’s actually somebody pressed up against the window, back turned and oblivious, holding a conversation on the other side, but Jack ignores them.

 

Calum goes to stand beside him, and their shoulders bump.

 

They watch the beer pong game, Calum assumes, for a good five minutes before Jack speaks.

 

“Ashton… told me some things.”

 

And Calum swears his heart stops beating.

 

“W-What?” His voice wavers, but he doesn’t care. The alcohol stirs in his veins, and he turns to Jack in disbelief. At this point, he’s praying that Ashton told Jack about Calum wanting to give him a hand job since Year 8, and this was some weird preposition.

 

Something tells him that’s not the case when Jack casts him a guilty sideways glance.

 

“Jack, what did he tell you?” Calum demands, and there’s already heat in his cheeks. Jack looks down, fiddling with his hands and sighs.

 

“He told me I may be able to help you… or, give you a word of advice.”

 

“And what the fuck are you advising me on?”

 

Jack frowns, and turns around to lean his back against the window instead of looking out, and Calum sees a pained expression on his features. Calum doesn’t care, he’s confused and frustrated and fucking wants answers.

 

“Look, I- I know… What it’s like.”

 

“What what’s like?”

 

This was going no where in Calum’s opinion, and he was ready to throttle Jack for his ambiguity.

 

“I know what it’s like to be hopelessly wrecked by unrequited love,” Jack says quietly, and oh. Yeah, it’s about that. Ashton had told him about _that_. Calum turns on his foot and makes for the door without another word, ready to seek out Ashton to commit murder.

 

Jack grabs his elbow before he can go, and Calum turns quickly, jerking his arm out of Jack’s grasp defensively. He’s embarrassed, and shame is present in the red on his face, making him act irrationally. Jack narrows his eyes, and explains quickly, “Calum, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but he didn’t tell me who you were crushing on. Or pining after, or whatever. He just told me that you’ve been having some issues in your love life- God, what kind of friend do you take him for?”

 

And, right. Shit.

 

That was kind of a horrible presumption that Calum had cast.

 

Of course Ashton wouldn’t tell anyone about his… thing for Luke. Not fully, anyway. He’d sworn to Calum that he would never reveal it to anyone, and Calum had trusted him blindly… but, he was justified for that trust. Ashton _wouldn’t_ tell anybody, and he didn’t. Calum is kind of a shit friend, and Jack is staring at him expectantly.

 

“Sorry… Sorry, I- I panicked.” Calum mumbles, and reaches out quickly to squeeze at Jack’s arm apologetically.

 

His heart beat is spiked from the whirlwind of emotions, and Jack just smiles back briefly, an ‘I forgive you’, albeit slightly sad. He’s taken over by a troubled expression once more, and Calum clears his throat. He’s not used to happy-go-lucky, smiley Jack being reduced to… well, this.

 

“What… What advice do you have for me?”

 

Jack’s quiet for a prolonged time, and he returns back to the window, watching.

 

The silence is uncomfortable and tense.

 

And Calum’s still confused, feeling much like he’s in a shitty Karate Kid film in which he’s the Karate Kid and Jack is his ‘sensei’, but he waits patiently nonetheless. He did act like kind of a dick to Jack fucking Barakat, and some sense has returned into Calum’s head, so he just goes to stand beside Jack again, quietly.

 

He follows Jack’s eyes to the beer pong table once more, and they watch. Calum’s not quite sure what for, but he’s more or less waiting on Jack for his enlightenment or something.

 

It comes in a rush of words.

 

“I used to be- I am… I’m in love with him.”

 

Calum doesn’t even have to ask who, already knows, and his breath hitches. He’s heard things - Pete Wentz has a giant mouth and an ear for gossip - but never from Jack himself, so he’s a little unsure. Jack sighs, and Calum suddenly realises they’re not actually watching the game of beer pong, but more so the players, specifically… Alex.

 

“Yeah?” Calum doesn’t really know what to say, or how he should react. Surprised? Not really. “Yeah,” Jack mutters, and he rubs his eyes, looking exhausted all of a sudden, and Calum feels his heart squeeze at how familiar that expression on Jack’s face is.

 

Before Calum can say anything though, Jack is continuing on.

 

“It’s been… a journey, nonetheless, being in love with him and all. It’s been a while, more than a decade. We were two kids shoved together in this _band_ , and being around him every fucking day… It didn’t help. It still doesn’t help. I’m more fucked over than ever, being his best friend and convincing myself that that’s enough.”

 

“Calum,” Jack pauses for a second and Calum watches carefully, waits, “It’s not enough. It was never enough and it never will be enough. Don’t fucking kid yourself.”

 

The words are harsh, but Calum tries to remind himself that it’s not him that Jack is scolding - it’s himself.

 

It’s obvious, from the way Jack’s shoulders hunch over and his eyes cloud with a memory of the past. Calum wants to comfort him, but how can he do that when he doesn’t even know how to comfort himself?

 

He rests a hand on Jack’s arm instead, and Jack jerks out of his daydream, and smiles sadly.

 

“Does it ever get easier?” Calum asks softly, and Jack laughs, probably by accident, and straightens up. He pulls Calum close with a firm hand on Calum’s back, and brings him in for a tight hug. Calum doesn’t protest, just sinks into the hug as his own heart falls.

 

“No,” Jack confirms in a breaking voice, and he squeezes Calum tight. “No, it never does.”

 

-

 

Their heart-to-heart ends when Alex himself bursts into the room, obviously way drunker than he’d been earlier, with messy hair and wild eyes that light up at the sight of Jack.

 

Calum steps back from his hug with Jack, who wipes at his own eyes self-consciously when Alex stumbles in.

 

“There you are,” Alex says affectionately, pulling Jack into the hug that Calum ditched. “Oh, you’re here, too!” Alex notices Calum from over Jack’s shoulder, and furrows his brows, “Did we scare you guys off from the game? I was just kidding, Jacky. You didn’t have to run off here and hide from me- I mean us.”

 

“You didn’t scare us off,” Jack assures, and his expression is soft as Alex pulls away to look at him. “Cal and I were just talking about new music and shit.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Alex nods, and he rests his head on Jack’s shoulder, arms still around his middle. He whispers something into Jack’s ear, sounding suspiciously like, ‘I want you’, and begins to kiss at his neck, too drunk to care about Calum’s presence, and Jack murmurs something back, throwing Calum an apologetic look. He catches the hint, gives Jack a thumbs up and slips out of the room, curious and hurting for him. Calum wants to drag the older man out behind him, slap some sense into him and say, ‘This isn’t helping you. Alex is still married.’

 

But at the same time, he gets it.

 

He gets what it’s like to continue hurting yourself in the long run for snippets of short-lived pleasure. Short-lived pleasure being a vague description, however, as Jack’s version (probably) involves a full-blown affair, whereas Calum’s is a ‘mild’ case of unrequited romance.

 

Calum wouldn’t let himself fall into what Jack’s got going on.

 

Hopefully.

 

He’s deep in thought as he walks, so much so that he doesn’t see anyone when he turns the corner into the kitchen, crashing directly into someone with a winded, ‘Oof- Fuck! Sorry’. Calum startles when he realises it’s Luke, and Luke’s own eyes widen comically, before he breaks into a huge smile.

 

“Calum!” And he’s bringing Calum into a hug, similar to the one that Alex had forced onto Jack. Basically, Luke’s just as drunk as Alex had been.

 

“Luke, hey,” Calum replies, muffled by Luke’s shoulder as he returns the hug awkwardly.

 

‘ _I’m more fucked over than ever…_ ’ Jack’s words echo and bounce around his head when Luke pulls away and Calum is left in the dizzying scent of the younger’s cologne mingled with alcohol. It’s delicious, and Calum wants to pull Luke back just to lick at his neck.

 

“Where have you been?” Luke pouts, and his hand is still resting on Calum’s arm.

 

Calum could swear that his stance - hip cocked, finger tracing up and down Calum’s bicep - is flirtatious, but quickly rejects those thoughts and chants, ‘Get over him!’ as a mantra instead.

 

“Uh- Around? Yeah, I was just- Ya’know.”

 

“I didn’t see you anywhere… And I looked! Trust me,” Luke huffs.

 

Chewing at his bottom lip, Calum forces the butterflies away, but can’t help but think, _He was looking for me_? He gives into a smile at the thought, “Sorry, Lukey. Jack asked me to… help him change his pants. Uhm! I mean- Uh- He spilt beer on them and he wanted me to pick out… a colour?”

 

The end of Calum’s supposed statement is rushed and ends in a higher octave, making it sound more like a question, to which Luke’s lower lip juts out.

 

“You helped him change his pants?”

 

“N-No! I, uhm, picked the pants for him to change into. Yeah- uh, that.”

 

Luke narrows his eyes and Calum swears he can feel sweat beginning to form. After a moment of solid staring, Luke breaks from a suspicious expression and into a smile, and Calum relaxes, relieved. “Cool! I was gonna be jealous,” Luke hums, and pulls Calum back into another tight hug. “You’re mineee,” Luke insists, and Calum can feel his insides melting.

 

“Uhuh,” He mumbles shakily, grateful that Luke’s too drunk to hear/question the tremor in his voice.

 

It’s a while more before Luke is pulling away, and he smiles lazily at Calum. “You wanna go get some fresh air?” He asks, making a motion to fan himself, “It’s really hot in here.”

 

Calum just nods, although his mind is screaming protest, and Luke grins, taking Calum’s hand to lead him toward the backdoor. Calum swallows thickly, trying not to focus on how good Luke’s hand feels holding his, and attempts to ignore the image of Ashton’s disapproving face at the back of his mind.

 

It’s not like he can avoid solo time with Luke forever, and what’s a little drunken conversations between friends? Except, Calum’s not _really_ drunk, maybe a little tipsy, and that leaves him with no excuse if he really does do something stupid.

 

Like confess his love to Luke or something. Hah.

 

Fuck.

 

It’s chilly outside when Luke shoves open the backdoor, and Calum suppresses a slight shiver at the drastic change of temperatures.

 

He’s only wearing a thin black shirt with flannel, and skinny jeans don’t actually serve for much protection - they’re just long. Luke, on the other hand, has an oversized cashmere sweater on with a beanie atop his head, and looks completely comfortable in the cold air.

 

Calum breathes out, and can see the product forming in front of his face in a cloud of air.

 

The back porch is lit dimly, but light enough so they can see. There’s a rickety swing looking straight out of the first World War, but Luke sits anyway, causing a slight groan as it moves. Calum frowns, but is forced to sit as Luke tugs him along. “This is old,” Calum comments, trying to get comfortable as the swing squeals in protest.

 

Luke laughs a little too loud, and Calum shoots him a funny look, to which he blushes.

 

He looks so good in the soft light, all rosy-cheeked and bitten-lipped. Calum wants to lean in and press his mouth firmly against Luke’s, and can barely refrain from doing so as he balls his hands up into fists.

 

‘Get over him, get over him, get over him,’ Calum scolds.

 

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me, anymore,” Luke says suddenly, and he’s sporting a sheepish smile. Calum’s mental chant fades away at this, and he reaches out to squeeze at Luke’s knee, awkwardly stuttering his movements as he calculates whether it’s appropriate, and Luke tilts his head, confused. Calum eventually just wraps his fingers around Luke’s knee, gives a small squeeze and quickly retracts his hand.

 

“Yeah!” And, what the fuck, why did Calum’s voice just crack? “Yeah, I’m glad, too.”

 

Luke smiles, seemingly deciding to ignore Calum’s weirdness, “I missed you.” He confesses shyly, and Calum can literally feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. “It was hard being away from you,” Luke continues, and he’s tugging at the sleeves of his sweater, a nervous habit he’d picked up when they’d first started interviews as a band.

 

“Yeah?” Calum doesn’t really know how to react. What could and couldn’t be perceived as flirting? What could he say that wouldn’t disappoint the image of Ashton’s face at the back of his head?

 

“Yeah… Mikey and Ash are cool, but they’re not you,” Luke smiles. “You’re special. You’re mine.”

 

And Calum laughs at that. He laughs because Luke does not know just how fucking right he is. “Thanks, Lukey. I like you, too,” And shit, that’s definitely flirting. The Ashton at the back of his head is frowning now.

 

“I mean-“ Calum fumbles with his words, “I mean I like being with you, too, uhm- Like, you’re cool… er than Mikey and Ashton. Yeah. That.”

 

“You’re hotter than Mikey and Ash,” Luke giggles, teasing, and Calum’s heartbeat stutters.

 

God, save him.

 

“T-Thanks,” Calum stutters, and feels his cheeks flush.

 

Luke just smiles at him, expression clouded over by the alcohol, his eyes hooded and his front teeth digging into the pinkness of his lower lip. Calum can see the bluest blue of Luke’s eyes, the dark flecks of black here and there, and how Luke’s eyelashes fan out in golden wisps. There’s a light dust of freckles across Luke’s nose, almost too pale to note, but since Luke’s leaning in, it’s easy to-

 

Holy shit, Luke is leaning in.

 

Ashton is glaring at Calum from the back of his head, and the two framed photos of Alex and Jack, and Alex and Lisa pop into his thoughts.

 

He quickly backs up, unsubtly so, and covers up by faking a sneeze.

 

Not the best plan, but it’s something to keep the hurt from taking over Luke’s features. Calum fakes another sneeze with an exaggerated, ‘achoo!’, and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand convincingly.

 

“The cold, I think it’s getting to me,” He explains. “Maybe we should head ins-“

 

“God, you’re so hot,” Luke cuts him off instead and grabs Calum’s face with both hands, pulling him in and pressing their lips together. It’s a fucking shock, and Calum squeaks, muffled by Luke’s insistent mouth. The blonde is adamant, and shifts closer, tilting his head so their noses don’t mash together so much.

 

His hands are warm, one falling from Calum’s face and the other edging back to cup at the back of Calum’s neck.

 

Calum stares, with wide eyes, at Luke’s own, fallen shut. He thinks of how much Luke reeks of alcohol, and how much Calum doesn’t. He wants to pull away, he really fucking does, but Luke’s hands feel so good, and Luke’s lips even better, and Calum’s weak. He’s fucking weak. Luke’s hands are so, so, so, _so_ warm.

 

It’s impossible not to sigh and accept the fact that he’s always going to be Luke’s bitch.

 

Calum, against the fuming red face of the Ashton at the back of his head, begins to kiss back, fingers going to curl around the fabric at Luke’s chest as he keeps the younger boy close. It feels so good to relax, to move his lips against Luke’s in a slow glide. Calum’s lips are chapped slightly from the cold, and he pulls away to wet them briefly with a swipe of his tongue, before delving right into the kiss.

 

Luke welcomes him back with a sweet whine, and timidly licks into Calum’s mouth.

 

It’s surprising how soft Luke kisses, all shy kitten licks and tentative touching, but Calum likes it, and takes the lead. Years of want and longing have built up to this moment, and he’s got no time to relish in innocence.

 

Months of tension and frustration explodes, and warmth suddenly fills Calum in every aspect. He feels heat radiating off of his skin, and responds by pulling Luke closer, one hand gripped at his thigh as he nips at Luke’s lower lip carelessly. Luke only moans, allows himself to be bitten, and even mumbles a, ‘Harder, Cal, bite harder’.

 

“Jesus,” Calum breathes, and Luke’s clambering into his lap, to which the swing sways unsteadily. It’s a bad idea, the whole thing, but Luke is pulling him back into a kiss, his thighs bracketing Calum’s lap, and Calum wants this so bad.

 

He’s wanted this so bad for so long, and here he is, with a lapful of Luke and a mouthful of… well, Luke.

 

The new position is a whole lot hotter, and Luke has his fingers tangled in Calum’s hair, tugging his head backward to deepen the kiss. The control has shifted to Luke, now, and Calum goes with it, soft and pliant against the younger boy. They kiss like that for a while, tongues swiping past, getting to know each other, and Luke has a tight grip on Calum’s shoulder.

 

“I want you,” Luke breaks from the kiss to whisper, and Calum shudders, thinking of a drunken Alex muttering the same words to a tipsy Jack just moments earlier.

 

It seems Calum understands Jack on a whole new level, now, as Luke stares down at him with big, hazy eyes, and red, bruised lips. The want is strong, stirring in Calum’s belly, and a million and one thoughts cycle through his brain. Thoughts of Ashton, who had patiently comforted Calum through the weeks prior to this, thoughts of Jack, who was suffering the same thing as him in this moment. Calum even thinks of Michael, the lucky bastard who had no clue what the fuck was going on with his best friends. Lisa pops into his mind suddenly, questionably ignorant to her husband’s affair, followed quickly by Arzaylea, and Calum swallows the bile in his throat.

 

Luke’s here, sitting in his lap, beanie threatening to fall from his head, eyes wild, and lips so, so kissable, and Calum would rather die than have to say the words-

 

“We can’t do this.”

 

And, fuck. The words are out there, and they’re truer than ever, and they’re out there. Fucking shit.

 

“W-What?” The haze in Luke’s eyes clear, and he’s frowning now, eyebrows furrowed together. “Why not?” He demands, and leans in to press a firm kiss to Calum’s lips, pulling away after Calum doesn’t respond.

 

“Kiss me back,” Luke demands, and leans in once more to try again, but Calum gathers his wits, and turns his head at the last moment so Luke’s lips collide with his jaw. Calum tries not to moan at the new contact, and Luke seems to feel Calum’s shiver. His lips mouth along Calum’s jawline, and dip into the crook of Calum’s neck, teeth nipping at the soft skin, and Calum’s mouth falls open.

 

It feels fucking amazing, Luke’s teeth scraping at the sensitive arch of Calum’s throat, and Calum tightens his grip on Luke’s waist. It feels so good, so fucking good, that Calum almost forgets what he’d said, almost forgets that Luke’s not even ga-

 

“Stop!” Calum straightens up, and Luke is forced to detach from Calum’s neck with a sharp whine. It’s a lose-lose situation, but Calum holds his ground, determined. “Luke, we can’t,” He starts, and trails off almost immediately.

 

Luke stares at him expectantly, with round eyes full of hurt, and Calum frowns at this. Luke isn’t supposed to be the one hurting. _Calum’s_ hurting, he’s been hurting for seven god damn years. Luke has no fucking clue what it’s like to really hurt. To really have something that you want held just out of reach. Calum takes a deep, startling breath, and is about to speak, when Luke beats him to it.

 

“You don’t want me,” His voice is soft, yet accusing. His large eyes are even larger, and the baby blue stares down at him sadly. Luke looks confused, and utterly adorable, and his expression almost breaks Calum’s heart.

 

Almost.

 

“I… I can’t want you,” Calum corrects, and it sucks to say. “I can’t, Luke. You- You’re- Think of Arzaylea. You don’t really want me, either, you’re just drunk,” Calum huffs out, and repeats the fact firmly. “You’re just drunk. And confused. You think you want me, but- You don’t. Not really.”

 

“I do want you,” Luke argues, and he’s shoving his hips down against Calum’s, and oh.

 

That’s a hard-on, alright.

 

“Luke,” Calum gasps, surprised. He flushes, and carefully bustles Luke off of his lap and beside him. The swing groans yet again, and Calum takes this as his cue to stand up, embarrassment flushing from the tip of his ears all the way down to the top of his collarbones. Maybe even down to his dick, an obvious ridge in his jeans. Yep. Blood has definitely flowed down South. He can’t even imagine how ridiculous he probably looks, red in the face and shaking visibly, a 'crease' in his jeans.

 

“You’re being so mean,” Luke accuses, and tears have started to well at the corners of his eyes.

 

He sniffles, and blinks his eyes hard, the tears escaping and rolling down his flushed cheeks. “No,” Calum argues, and quickly drops to his knees in front of Luke.

 

“Lukey, no,” Calum consoles, brushing at Luke’s cheeks with his thumbs to rid of tears. There’s a burn that sits low in his stomach, and he tries hard to ignore it. Tries hard to ignore the urge to just lean forward that tiny bit more and reconnect their lips.

 

Luke pushes at Calum’s hands, tears falling at a constant dribble now, and he’s shaking his head.

 

“Go away! You don’t fucking want me,” Luke wails, and Calum’s half-terrified that somebody’s going to burst in from the house. Maybe it’s better if someone does. He’s obviously handling this very poorly.

 

“I do,” Calum says desperately, wanting to stop Luke’s tears before Calum does something stupid like kiss him again. “I just can’t, Lukey. You’re dating someone else. It’s not right.” Calum hurries to explain, and tears are beginning to flow past his thumbs at this point, more than Calum can wipe away.

 

He briefly thinks about having wanted to let loose at Jack’s party, and almost laughs out loud at how horribly that had turned out.

 

He’d gone from ‘ready to get fucking turnt’, to ‘ready to annihilate everyone in beer-pong’, to having a heart-to-heart with Jack about their unrequited loves, to being kicked out of Alex’s room by a drunken and horny Alex, to sitting out here, on Jack Barakat’s back porch, with a ‘ready-to-fuck’ and then crying Luke on his hands, all with only two drinks of barely-enough rum to keep him going.

 

Yeah, he’s feeling so relaxed right now.

 

Luke sniffs hard, and Calum crinkles his nose. “I want you,” Luke pleads, and he hiccups. It’s so cute, and Calum fights his own longing.

 

The blonde boy is shaking now, and he looks all too uneasy. Calum is leaning forward to comfort him, maybe pull him into a hug so Luke can’t possibly kiss him again, when the younger boy’s eyes are widening, and he’s leaning forward to puke all over Calum’s front.

 

“What the fuck?!” Calum shrieks, and falls backward. He’s too late, and most of Luke’s vomit has stained his shirt and jeans. Even his converse aren’t left untouched, and Calum’s feeling slightly queasy.

 

Great. Now he can add ‘Luke throwing up on me’ to his relaxation list.

 

“Oh my god- Oh my fucking god, I’m so sorry,” Luke is gushing, still looking questionably green in the face and Calum struggles to stand up. He feels gross, and his clothes are clinging to his skin, and he holds his breath. “Cal, oh god, I’m really sorry, fuck-“

 

“It’s okay,” Calum quickly confirms, and tries a strained smile.

 

The smell is starting to set in, and Calum chews at his lower lip. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

 

Quickly, he tries to manoeuvre the shirt off of his head without touching the mess, and manages to do so, grateful that the vomit hadn’t seeped all the way through the thin material of his shirt yet. He does the same with his jeans, peeling off the material gingerly, and picking them up with a pinched expression.

 

However, he’s now standing in the middle of freezing air without a shirt, without pants, and said clothes bundled up in his arms with vomit stains.

 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Luke breathes, and the backdoor opens right on cue.

 

Ashton is standing in the door way, all smiles and giggles until he sees what’s in front of him. Then, he stops in his tracks, and someone behind him, who’s babbling about God knows what, bumps into Ashton from the sudden halt, and exclaims, “What the fuck?”

 

And, oh. It’s Mikey. Cool.

 

There’s a shocked silence for way too long, and Calum can’t take it.

 

“Great, the band’s all here,” He says sarcastically, and Ashton goes bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this so far. It IS one of my LONGEST fictions that I've ever written - and there's still one more chapter to come. I really wanted to put in themes of suppressed homosexuality (Alex and Luke), unrequited love (Jack and Calum), alcohol consumption in order to make love (Alex and mildly Luke), a mild situation compared to a full-blown affair (Calum x Luke vs Alex x Jack), as well as what unrequited love could do to anyone involved (Arzaylea, Lisa, Ashton, etc.). I really wanted to express just how constant unrequited love may be in someone's life - shown through Luke has a continuous thought and worry at the back of Calum's head. I wanted to show just how some people may mould their entire lives around the prospect of their love, like Calum has unknowingly done so. I hope you've managed to pick up on these themes, and that you've enjoyed it (so far). 
> 
> Make sure to comment and kudos and bookmark as it really motivates me and tells me that you guys like it! x
> 
> \- C


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d become so wrapped around his situation with Luke that Calum was beginning to feel disgustingly co-dependent on his unrequited love. It was as if the situation described him, and he didn’t want that at all.

They spend almost 10 minutes arguing.

 

Ashton demands a retelling of the entire thing, including very obvious questions on, ‘Why were you out here alone with Luke?!’ that make Calum’s cheeks heat up, Michael raise an eyebrow and Luke- Well, Luke’s conveniently passed out.

 

Calum thinks it’s the emotional exhaustion that knocks Luke out.

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Michael interrupts Ashton who’s begun a rant on how stupid Calum is for letting this happen, and Calum could never be more grateful for Michael fucking Clifford.

 

“Be my guest, it’s not like I’m freezing my literal balls off,” Calum huffs.

 

Michael rolls his eyes, “Right, I don’t care, Cal,” And Calum just sticks his tongue out, but not without a shiver that shakes his whole body. Ashton, although angry, has the decency to shrug off his own jacket and hands it to Calum, who just nods gratefully. He can’t really face Ashton’s disappointed expression right now.

 

“You and Luke come out here, unbeknownst reasoning to anyone, and have some good chats. And then he throws up on you. There’s some gaps I’m curious about…”

 

“Thanks for the conclusion, Mikey, you’re really helpful,” Calum scoffs, “And you can keep being confused. Nothing happened. I told you, Luke and I came out here and we were talking about… uhm… Captain America? And uh- Yeah, he just went really green in the face and… blerghhh.”

 

“Ok, that impression was so uncalled for,” Ashton says with a crinkled nose.

 

“Look, I’m the one with puke all over me, ok?!”

 

“Makes you look nicer,” Michael says, batting his eyelashes, and Calum has a go at hitting him, to which Michael dodges swiftly with a giggle.

 

Trust Michael to fucking giggle in a situation like this.

 

“As I said before, I’m literally freezing my balls off here. Can we go inside?” Calum steers back on topic, and Ashton steps around the remnants of vomit on the porch floor, nose still crinkled and sits beside Luke who immediately leans onto Ashton naturally. The older boy takes Luke’s hand into his and strokes comfortingly, although Luke is completely passed out. _Calum_ could do with some comfort.

 

Michael leans against the porch railing, brushing off the questionable creak of old wood. “Sure thing, Column, let’s get you inside! Quick question… any idea how the fuck we’re going to do so without exposing your goodies down there to Jack’s entire house party?”

 

“It’s not like I’m not wearing underwear!”

 

“Might as well not be, your dick’s sticking right out the bottom,” Michael smirks.

 

“What?!” Calum squawks, immediately looking down to check, relieved when he sees nothing out of place. He looks back at Michael, who’s laughing his ass off and he glares as Michael squeals, “Made you look! Made you look!”

 

God, he could really do with some new band members right about now.

 

“Look, why don’t you just call Jack and ask him to bring you spare clothes?” Ashton pipes up, and… Oh.

 

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Calum asks dumbly, and Ashton just rolls his eyes.

 

Calum sifts through his crumpled jeans on the ground and snags his phone, shivering slightly as he scrolls for Jack’s contact name. He finds it under, ‘ _skunk id like to funk_ ’, and doesn’t even bother questioning who may have set it (Michael).

 

The white-haired boy is obviously looking for a reaction from Calum, and slumps in disappointment when Calum acts as normal. Calum resists the urge to roll his eyes, and instead types out a text.

 

**CTH, 00:32AM**

what up my fave atl member???!

 

“Okay, cool,” Calum says, and locks his phone. He’s hoping for a quick reply, but he’s not counting on it, knowing that Jack may or may not be boning Alex at that second. Well, Alex boning _him_ , but whatever.

 

“Did he reply yet?” Michael asks impatiently, and he’s slouching against the rickety railing.

 

Ashton sends him a baffled look. “He- Calum _just_ sent the text…”

 

“Yeah,” Michael shrugs. “Did he reply yet?”

 

“Jesus Christ, you are so impatient it’s actually difficult to comprehend,” Ashton exhales, and this starts off a pointless round of bickering between the two ‘oldest’ members of the band. Calum stares as red begins tinging Michael’s cheeks at the point of Ashton retelling an old bus-tale of Michael burning himself on a bowl of searing hot popcorn after he’d been too impatient with putting on oven mitts.

 

 _His cheeks are almost as red as his burns had been_ , Calum thinks, amused.

 

The phone buzzes in Calum’s hand as Michael is rebutting with his _own_ bus-tale of the time Ashton had accidentally left his porn open on the computer after hogging the back lounge for a questionable amount of time.

 

It had been what started the whole ‘daddy kink’ joke.

 

Calum briefly wonders what it’d be like to join a band where childish bickering didn’t ensue every fifteen seconds. Probably awesome. He remembers the text, and unlocks the phone with Ashton yelling, “You can’t keep retelling the same story, Michael!” in the background.

 

**JBB, 00:43AM**

… who are u and what have u done with the REAL claum

 

**JBB, 00:43AM**

scratch tht… u r the real calum. different quesiton: what are u hoping to exploit me fr??

 

Despite the situation, Calum can’t help but laugh.

 

Michael and Ashton quieten down at this, but Ashton can’t help adding, “That was more than ten minutes, Mikey… You doing okay? Need a hug? A comforting pat? A hand to ho-“ And Michael launches at Ashton to tickle him, to which Ashton makes a very mature escape into Jack’s garden, squealing. (He later insists it was simply man-yelling.)

 

Calum ignores the two eldest members of his band as they chase each other around Jack’s frosted over backyard. Luke is slumped against the swing, slanted due to Ashton’s absence. Calum can’t help but smile at Luke’s sleep-rumpled self, before returning to his phone.

 

**CTH, 00:45AM**

hahaha me? Exploittt? nooo.

 

**CTH, 00:45AM**

but… I do need a favur

 

**JBB, 00:46AM**

explotiation: the act of makjkign use of or benefiting frm someone’s resourc

eg. ‘Favurs’

 

**CTH, 00:46AM**

i’m honesltly shocked u know how to spell ‘benefiting’

 

**JBB, 00:47AM**

hidden talents

 

**JBB, 00:47AM**

what u want boy

 

Calum’s tempted to type, ‘you ;)’, but goes against it. For the sake of his freezing balls.

 

**CTH, 00:48AM**

ok long story short… im outside in ur back porch rn and luke threw up on me so ive got no clean clothes

 

**CTH, 00:48AM**

can u help? (-:

 

The typing bubble appears and disappears several times, and Calum huffs. Surely it wasn’t _that_ weird of a text. Surely…

 

“I have conquered all!” Ashton screeches from the garden, and Calum looks over to see Michael pinned to the ground, Ashton’s knee on his chest. Both boys are laughing, breathless from the ‘exercise’, and Calum can’t help but laugh, too.

 

Luke, although he doesn’t even mean to this time, is missing out on the fun.

 

Michael goes pliant under Ashton, and Calum squints his eyes to keep their darkened shapes in sight.

 

“Would it be better if I called you Daddy now?” Michael asks smugly, and Calum can’t even think to feel remorse for the white-haired boy as Ashton starts another bout of merciless tickling.

 

Calum jerks as his phone vibrates in his hand, and quickly opens the text.

 

**JBB, 00:50AM**

i’ll be right there u absolute fucking nob

 

He breathes a sigh of relief, and knows that Jack isn’t actually angry. Calum sends off a quick, ‘u are my god’, and keeps his hand around his phone, not wanting it to return to the possibly puke-ridden pockets of his jeans.

 

“Jack’s coming down now,” Calum calls out to Ashton and Michael, who are now starfished across the grass. He barely resists the urge to go join them. “Can you get your asses back here?” Calum asks instead, feigning annoyance, and the two boys groan their respective complaints. They take their time in coming back, brushing off any remnants of grass as they jog, jostling each other playfully all the way until Ashton’s VANs slap against the porch wood.

 

“I won,” Michael tells Calum, to which Ashton snorts.

 

“Please, as if being the one pinned down is now defined as ‘winning’.”

 

“I think it was Ashton who won,” Calum quickly rushes to continue as Michael’s mouth drops open in clear protest. “You fulfilled his daddy kink after all.”

 

Michael latches onto Calum whilst laughing, breathing heavily from the cold air and the running around. Ashton just glares, and resorts to flopping down beside Luke, not even flinching as the swing wails against the added weight. Luke leans naturally against Ashton once more, and Calum’s heart squeezes at the sight.

 

“Did you see the genius contact name?” Michael asks nosily, arms still wrapped around Calum’s middle, shoving his face against Calum’s neck.

 

His words are warm against Calum’s throat, and Calum smiles. “Ah, yes,” He plays along, rubbing his hand up and down Michael’s arms that are around him. “You’ve already used ‘skunk id like to funk’ for when you had black and white hair, though.”

 

At this, Michael huffs, unwrapping himself from Calum and leaving a weak punch on the younger’s shoulder.

 

“You’re no fun,” Michael announces, and returns to his place, slumped against the porch railing. Calum just rolls his eyes, about to retaliate with a comment on Michael’s loss against Ashton, when the backdoor is shoved open.

 

“Jesus.”

 

Jack is standing in the doorway, one arm piled with fluffy-looking sweatpants and a hoodie. The other hand is equipped with his phone, pointed directly at Calum, and an obnoxious camera shutter sounds and a soft flash comes, followed by Calum’s shrieking protest. He lunges forward to grapple for Jack’s phone, to which Jack holds it out of reach with a giggle.

 

“Nuh-uh, this is payment for me having to trudge all the way out here,” Jack tuts, and Calum gives up, instead staring longingly at the clothes.

 

“Oh, this?” Jack smirks, stepping out onto the porch and shutting the door behind him. Calum averts his eyes from several party-goers who stare curiously out just before the door closes. “Why, yes. These _are_ the warmest clothes you will ever have the pleasure of finding. And, yes, you _are_ in desperate need for them. How ‘bout a quick handie and we’ll call it even Stevens?” 

 

“Give me the damn clothes,” Calum grumbles, and Jack reluctantly hands them over with a pout.

 

“ _I’ll_ give you a quick handie if you let me use the popcorn machine,” Michael grins from where he’s leaning against the porch rail, and Jack narrows his eyes. “Make it a blowie and I’ve got you covered,” Jack says, and Michael is already rushing back into the house with a, ‘ _You’re going to get the best blow job of your damned life, Jack Barakat!_ ’

 

Michael leaves the door open behind him, and the party-goers from earlier stare openly. The tips of Calum’s ears burn, and he quickly pulls on the sweater. It’s a little small, but at least it’s something.

 

“I’ll go make sure Michael doesn’t repeat what happened on the bus,” Ashton interrupts Calum’s stare off with the crowd inside, and rests a hand on Calum’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright, yeah?”

 

And Calum feels slightly uncomfortable, guilt making his cheeks flush pink as he nods mutely.

 

“We’ll talk about this when we get home,” Ashton says softly, albeit stern. “Come find me when you want to go.”

 

“Uhuh,” Calum mumbles back dully. There’s no point arguing, really. Ashton deserves an apology, an explanation, and the whole damn world at this point. The curly-headed boy was normally so quick to irritation that Calum’s surprised all he got was a few, ‘you’re so dumb!’s. He’s not sure if he’s grateful for the lack of yelling, though. It feels a little weird seeing Ashton so calm, and an itch has settled under his skin.

 

Ashton smiles comfortingly, and Calum just wants to scream, ‘ _Go on! Yell at me! Tell me how much of an idiot I am instead of being so nice_!’

 

He’d feel a million times less guilty with Ashton being angry at him. That’d at least give him a reason to yell _back_ , but apparently Ashton’s not about that as he pulls Calum into a hug. “I love you, Cal. I’m not angry at you,” Ashton reassures, doing that _thing_ where he reads exactly what’s on Calum’s mind. “I’m just… disappointed, yeah?”

 

And, great. _Disappointed_. The guilt in Calum’s belly churns, mocking him, and he nods once more, stiffly.

 

Before he can choke out a ‘sorry’, Jack is interrupting them with a playful shove at Ashton’s shoulder. “ _Go_ check on Casper the Friendly Ghost,” Jack reminds jokingly, referring to Michael and somewhat lightening the mood.

 

Ashton smiles fondly, the dampened mood lifting, and gives Calum one more squeeze on the arm, before disappearing into the house. He, at least, closes the door behind him.

 

Jack whistles when the door finally falls shut.

 

“Jeez,” He starts. “ _I_ was beginning to feel guilty under that stare and I didn’t even do anything.”

 

“You have no idea,” Calum mutters back, tugging on the sweatpants glumly. He looks briefly at Luke, and feels a heaviness in his stomach, feels the ghost of Luke’s lips on his. “I love Ashton, honestly, but him being so nice makes me feel… not so nice.”

 

The sweatpants end just above his ankle, but Calum doesn’t care.

 

“Rian is the exact same with me,” Jack says sympathetically, and Calum offers a tiny twitch of a smile.

 

“Maybe it’s a drummer thing.”

 

He rubs at his eyes tiredly, and suddenly feels a thousand years older than just 20. He wonders if this is why Jack throws so many parties.

 

“C’mere,” Jack sighs, and Calum is being tugged into a hug. Jack’s arms are loose around his middle, and Calum just leans into it. The euphoria from earlier has faded away into a sinking feeling, and Calum just wants to melt into tears. “What happened?” Jack asks softly. “And tell me everything, ok? I won’t… I can’t judge.”

 

Calum suddenly ponders whether he should ask Jack if him and Alex really did… do it, but decides not to. Jack might see it as Calum passing the buck over to him instead, and opts to just explain himself.

 

“Well… After I left your- I mean, Alex’s room,” Calum corrects himself, ignoring the way Jack tenses up in their hug. “I bumped into Luke. He was- Well, he was drunk. Like really drunk. And he starts telling me how he was looking for me everywhere, and I gave in, ya’know? It felt good that he was looking for me, and I know I’m weak, but I couldn’t help it! I jus-“

 

“Calum,” Jack interrupts, and he’s moving his hand in slow comforting circles. “I get it. Go on, I’m not judging.”

 

Calum takes a deep breath, and hooks his chin on Jack’s shoulder. _Chill out_ , he thinks to himself.

 

“Okay,” He says after a moment, and pulls away from the embrace. He’d rather look Jack in the eye instead of avoiding the shame. “Okay,” Calum repeats, and steps away to sit beside Luke on the porch swing. He tries not to cringe at the low groan of the swing.

 

Luke falls naturally against him, and Calum locks up, before forcing himself to relax.

 

He hopes Jack doesn’t notice.

 

“He asked if I wanted to get some air with him,” Calum continues on his story after a moment, rubbing his hands together nervously. Luke’s breath is soft and warm against his neck. “So… I did. I didn’t want to like- Hurt his feelings by saying ‘no’. And I know I should’ve just said ‘no’ anyway, but… Yeah. I dunno.”

 

Jack nods and urges for Calum to continue.

 

“He just looked really… stunning, and- Well, I love him, you know? I love Luke.”

 

Jack barks out a laugh, and Calum immediately jerks his head up, offended. He kinda just opened up his heart to Jack only to be laughed at, but after matching Jack’s gaze, the offence fades away to sympathy. The older’s shoulders are drooped, forming the impression of a man many years Jack’s senior.

 

Things that Calum has never noticed before - taken the time to notice, maybe? - begin to surface, abundantly clear in front of him. The flatness in Jack’s hair, deflated from its usual spiked confidence. Dark half-circles lining under his eyes, a gentle brown void of sadness and hopelessness. Calum even notes the ragged breathing, relating on levels that remind him just how tiring this whole ‘unrequited love’ thing actually is.

 

Calum’s words hang in the air.

 

“Yeah,” Jack finally thinks to reply after minutes of drawn out silence. He’s rubbed his face at least six times in just those brief moments. Calum’s only at three.

 

Jack turns away from Calum, facing out into the garden to where Michael and Ashton had wrestled. “Yeah,” He repeats once more, and the line of his back curves to accommodate the exhaustion in his posture.

 

“I know.”

 

-

 

_Tired. He feels tired._

 

_Exhaustion hangs on every precipice of his body, each nook and cranny. Nothing escapes the wave of utter depletion that starts from the depths of his belly and spreads like a merciless disease, weighing him down from the lids of his eyes to the stone in his heart._

 

_His body slumps against his consciousness, succumbing to the fatigue._

 

_‘How long have I been this way?’_

 

_The thought is sudden, and hurts like a forming bruise, each word accentuated by a sucker punch. ‘How long?’ He thinks desperately. He wills his eyes to open, but they barely flutter under his command._

 

_Useless. Incompetent. Pathetic._

 

_‘How long have I been this way?’ Again, the question seers red hot, taking on a pain like no other, and his body slips further. He can feel a sharpness digging into his back, uncomfortable and awkward, and wills himself to move from it. His hand twitches. ‘Progress,’ He thinks bitterly._

 

_Silence._

 

_And then a gentle warmth. It’s small and shy, bubbling just out of reach, and he chases after it viciously. ‘Mine,’ He thinks, although the thought has no logic. He doesn’t care. He only seeks the comforting softness of the gentle warmth, a sweet relief from scorching pain. ‘How long have I been this way?’ The words echo louder, each in its own tumble of repetitions._

 

_‘No,’ He protests. ‘No!’ He wills his body to listen. Just this once. The warmth. It’s slipping away. He reaches out, but tension locks up his muscles, and movement is near impossible._

 

_What is he doing? What is he searching for?_

 

_‘How long have I been this way?’_

 

_‘No, no, no,’ He grapples with realities, and his world tilts. He falls to his knees, and his breath is stolen. ‘How long?’ The words rattle him to his core, and he thinks despairingly about what he is looking for. Is he looking for something?_

 

_‘How long have I been th-‘_

 

_The warmth! It’s there once more, but- No… it’s different. A new shape. A foreign feel._

 

_No. Not foreign._

 

_Familiar. Achingly familiar. Desire comes back a thousand times more ferocious, and he cries out from the intensity of it all. ‘Mine,’ He thinks without really doing so. It’s as if the words have their own mind. They’re not his. ‘Mine!’ His thoughts insist, and he’s moving forward subconsciously._

 

_His hand is out in front of him, tentatively, and he presses against the warmth. On contact, it sends him back in an explosive reaction of defence, and he falls once more. ‘How long have I been this way?’ He grabs at his head, willing for the words to relent. ‘How long have I been?’ They cloud his vision and his mind. The words are a thick fog that settles in on him, suffocating._

 

_Fierce want burns in his stomach, but… What for?_

 

_He can’t remember._

 

_He remains in a crumpled pile on the ground. Seconds blend into minutes that turn into hours. Or at least it feels that way. Time is unfamiliar in this world, and he shakes._

 

_‘How long have I be-‘_

 

_The words never finish, as the warmth butts in again. He cries out, desperate, and instinctively reaches towards it._

 

_‘Okay.’ The thought is not his own, and instead rattles him to the core, but… Not in the way that, ‘How long have I been this way?’, pierces through him. The monosyllable is hesitant and unsure, but takes on the comfort of a million reassuring hugs. He reaches for the warmth, and grabs ahold. ‘Okay.’ Again, the word comes in a flash of solace._

 

_The warmth welcomes him this time, and he relinquishes the sheer panic and terror that had grasped him just earlier to relax into condolence._

 

_The relief is tinged by a hum of words, incoherent to his ears. He pushes the buzz away, wanting desperately to remain in peaceful comfort of the warmth, but an itch settles under his skin. ‘Where are you?’ He thinks, straining his ears._

 

_‘He just looked…’ These words, again, are not his, and the buzzing recedes briefly, only to return immediately, twice as strong. It’s an incomplete thought and he forces himself to focus. The warmth is still there, guiding him gently through the murky waters of this strange world. It’s as if the warmth is telling him something, and he desperately wishes to know._

 

_He would do anything for the warmth, if it meant keeping it there and present._

 

_A fierce surge of protectiveness overcomes him, and the breath is once more knocked out from his chest. Searing hot want burns him to the core, and he shakes._

 

_‘He just looked really… stunning, and-’_

 

_His heart squeezes, and the buzzing stops. The itch persists. It’s a familiar voice. It’s- It’s-_

 

_‘Well, I love him, you know?’ His heart rate picks up, and his breath catches in his throat. The itch is stronger than ever, now, as if pushing him for one last thing. It’s Calum. It has to be._

 

_‘I love Luke.’_

 

_There!_

 

_The itch recedes completely, melting into the soft warmth that encases him in a blanket of tranquility, and Luke smiles to himself, finally relaxed._

 

_‘Calum,’ He hums to himself, and this time the thought is his own._

 

_The world fades to black, but the warmth remains._

 

_-_

 

The journey home from Jack’s house is not a pleasant one.

 

Jack had sent him off with another hug and a wet kiss to the cheek. It was as if the guy constantly drifted through moods of, ‘I’m super fine and having a great time!’, to, ‘Being in love is slowly killing me inside,’ and Calum feels sick to the stomach that he’s beginning to mimic these patterns.

 

No offence to Jack, but if a full-blown affair and a life of partying is in store for him, well… He wants out. He shudders at the thought of being closeted once more. He would never let himself be someone else’s dirty little secret, and refuses to acknowledge that he’s lying and he’d probably do it if it was Luke.

 

“You’re quiet,” Ashton jerks Calum out of his thoughts, and the curly-headed boy is giving him a curious side-glance.

 

Calum flushes pink under Ashton’s analytical gaze.

 

“Yeah, well. It was a long night,” Calum mumbles, and Ashton nods his head.

 

Again, a thick silence takes over, the heater whirring.

 

The steady hum of tar being eaten up by the wheels of the car is what Calum focuses on, losing himself in the somewhat comforting buzz. He rests his head against the cool surface of the window, and stares out as shops and traffic lights and trees and pavements and houses pass by in a blur. The whirlwind of things outside help to calm the whirlwind in his stomach.

 

He makes eye contact with himself in the rear view mirror, and resists the childish urge to wave or stick out his tongue or something. The new album by blink-182 is playing from a CD.

 

“I know I messed up, and it might be over,” Mark’s voice jolts from the stereo, and Calum tunes in absent-mindedly. “But let me call you when I’m sober. I’m a dandelion, you’re a four-leaf clover…”

 

The focus shifts from his own image to the back seat, and an unclear picture of Luke is being portrayed.

 

“But let me call you when I’m sober.”

 

A series of ‘na, na, na’s take over, but Calum’s not listening anymore.

 

Instead, he stares at the image of Luke.

 

The blonde boy has his head tossed backwards, resting against the back of his seat. The safety belt restricts him from lolling forward, and he’s clutching the material in his fist. Luke’s mouth is half open, and Calum recalls the soft wisps of breath on his neck. Moonlight filters in from outside, overhead street lamps giving the hue of yellow in its light that splashes across Luke’s face in a picture of utter beauty.

 

“Calum.”

 

He snaps out of his own head, and flushes considerably.

 

“Sorry, what?” Calum shakes his head a little in an attempt to clear it. The pinkness of Luke’s lips remain burned into his head.

 

“I asked if you wanted me to handle Luke,” Ashton says quietly, and he makes a smooth turn-in onto their driveway. The garage door opens in front of them, slowly receding to reveal Calum’s own car, as well as a bunch of other junk.

 

“Uh, I… Sure? I dunno. If it’s not too much of a hassle? I mean- I could help.”

 

Ashton is silent as he parks the car, and doesn’t say anything until he engine is cut. Calum wipes his sweaty hands on his/Jack’s sweatpants.

 

“I’ll do it,” Ashton says, and he’s not looking at Calum. Avoiding.

 

Huh.

 

Calum feels discomfort sitting low in his belly, and narrows his eyes. There’s tension in Ashton’s jaw, and in the way his hands move stiffly. The older runs the rigidness of his fingers through his hair. _Jesus Christ_ , Calum thinks, and laughs. Ashton jerks to look at him, only making it more obvious.

 

“What?” He asks, weary.

 

The caution in Ashton’s voice is somewhat of a shock to Calum, but he schools his face into one of nonchalance.

 

“I could handle Luke if you want,” He offers, and even adds what he thinks is a reassuring smile. Really, Calum’s testing him, checking the emotions that swim in Ashton’s eyes, much too expressive for his own good. Like a window to the soul. The window is full of alarm and concern, whereas Ashton’s face is calm. Calum scoffs.

 

“Don’t worry about it!” Ashton insists, and his voice is slightly too rushed. Slightly too squeaky. “Seriously, I- You should go get yourself showered and stuff. You- It’s been a long night, as you said.”

 

He can’t believe it. He doesn’t even know why Ashton’s bothering to lie.

 

Calum shakes his head at such a bizarre happening. “God,” He says, and then, “You don’t trust me.”

 

Ashton’s eyes widen, and guilt dominates the hazel more than the green does.

 

“Calum-“

 

“No! It’s- I’m right, aren’t I?” Again, he laughs, sounding a bit hysterical at this point. Maybe he is. “You don’t trust me! You don’t trust that I can be around Luke without wanting to-“

 

“Cal-“

 

“Honestly, Ash? You thought I wouldn’t see right through that? It’s so obvious that you think I’m incapa-“

 

“Calu-”

 

“I can’t believe you would even _try_ to lie to me, Ashton. Jesus, fuck, _I_ trust _you_. I’ve told you the fucking truth since the beginning! You can’t even bother to do the sam-“

 

“Oh,” Ashton is flushed bright red now, and his hands are in fists, “So you hanging out with Luke _behind my back_ is truthful?”

 

“Shut _up_! Don’t push this onto me, Ashton Irwin, just fucking admit it,” Calum hisses. “You. Don’t. Trust. Me!”

 

“Fine!” Ashton explodes, and Calum tries not to flinch. He focuses on the hot anger that keeps him standing his ground. “I don’t, okay? I don’t fucking trust you! Not with this, I- Not anymore, God. You’ve literally made that impossible, Calum. _Impossible_!”

 

And ouch, that stings, but Ashton’s not done. His face is red, and his hands are going everywhere in wild gesticulations. Calum sits, rigid, and stares ahead at the wall through the windshield. He can hear Luke’s soft snores from the backseat, but doesn’t dare look at the rearview mirror. “I ask you to steer clear of Luke,” Ashton huffs, and a tinge of laughter accentuates how _angry_ he is. “I ask you this, and you go and fucking hang out with him. Alone! Twice, Calum. _Twice_ since I asked. Forgive me for not being able to fucking trust you on this, but you’re not making it easy!”

 

“I don’t even know what to do with you anymore, Calum, I- It feels like you don’t even want to be helped at this point.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Calum whispers harshly, and he’s looking out the window, away from Ashton. Tears of frustration are brimming at his eyes, and he wills himself not to cry. He hasn’t cried this much in a week since… Since… Well, since never.

 

“Then help me understand,” Ashton pleads, and a crack runs through the last word that makes Calum’s jaw set.

 

He doesn’t deserve someone like Ashton.

 

There’s a lump in his throat, and he swallows thickly. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Calum asks numbly, and Ashton sighs heavily. He’s disappointed, and Calum can’t look at him.

 

“Fine,” Ashton says, as if hadn’t just blown his top at Calum. “Whatever, Cal, just- Whatever.”

 

-

 

Going to sleep, Calum finds, is outrageously difficult.

 

He tosses and turns and tries not to think about how Ashton is mad at him and how Luke is passed out in their guest bedroom. He feels hollow inside as he seeks out sleep, and replays conversations between Jack and himself, Luke and himself and Ashton and himself on repeat.

 

“Go to sleep,” Calum grumbles, and then feels silly to be talking when no one’s there.

 

It’s been a long night.

 

Calum fidgets, and turns onto his left side, staring at the digital clock on his bedside table for what could be the fiftieth time. It reads 3:53AM, and he sighs. 3 minutes since his last turnover and check.

 

Who is he trying to kid?

 

He’s not going to fall asleep. Not with Ashton’s last words to him being, ‘ _Whatever, Cal, just- Whatever_ ,’ with a pinched expression of disappointment drawing his face tight. It makes Calum feel sick, forces him to clench the sheets with curled fists in a false sense of stability. But the sheets are a poor substitute for Ashton, and that’s why he gets up.

 

That’s why he pads down the hallway at 3:55AM, clad only in boxier briefs and the thin sweatshirt he knew to be Ashton’s when he fell into bed.

 

But Calum doesn’t head to Ashton’s bedroom. He _wants_ to - wants to just slip into Ashton’s bed to the sleepy stirrings of the curly-headed boy. He wants Ashton to smile and mumble, “Cal? Is that you?” In that dazed half-conscious state of happiness when he feels a draft in the sheets followed by a dip in the mattress.

 

But he can’t.

 

He can’t, because if he does… Well, Ashton will still greet him with, “Cal? Is that you?” Only it’ll be clear and conscious and proof that Ashton, too, can’t fall asleep because of Calum. His tone will be flat instead of happy, and Ashton will interrogate his presence as soon as the door knob - the funny thing, Calum can never get it to turn smoothly, always has to fiddle with it for ages - rattles.

 

And he’ll answer, “Yeah,” because Ashton will expect it of him, and to that, Ashton will sigh and ask, “What do you want?”

 

And then what would he say?

 

_‘I was thinking about how I’ve been a massive twat to you for the past weeks and I want to choke on a brick - by the way, are you up for a cuddle?’_

 

Not likely. But he just can’t deal with Ashton having to question his motives for coming into his bedroom during the split of night. Bedroom visits are only ever ‘OK’ when Ashton’s not angry with Calum, which is respectable, but.

 

It leaves a bad taste in Calum’s mouth.

 

So he heads to the kitchen instead in hopes of washing said bad taste away with Coke Zero.

 

As he walks down the stairs, Calum makes sure to admire the smooth wood of their staircase railing. It runs swiftly, soft beneath the palm, and Calum appreciates that. He does. He can’t take his eyes off of the railing, all the way down the flight of steps. The framed photos of him and Ashton bore into his back all the way. Damn, what a nice railing.

 

The kitchen is dark, with only one source of light being the lamp at the foot of the stairwell. It’s not much, but Calum can make out the shapes of his kitchen, moving familiarly to avoid the centre island for the fridge, tucked neatly against the wall.

 

He wraps his fingers around the fridge handle. Calum feels a mild ache settling in between his eyes as he does so, not strong enough for aspirin and not weak enough to ignore. 

 

Calum ignores it anyway, opting to open the fridge with a firm tug instead.

 

Light cascades from inside the fridge, and Calum has to squint his eyes at the sudden brightness. _Why do fridges even have light_ , he thinks grumpily, and rummages the shelves of Ashton’s health-freak supplies for his beloved Coke Zero.

 

There’s a can hidden behind an oddly placed half-gallon of orange juice. Calum rolls his eyes at Ashton’s failed attempt to encourage Calum to drink healthier, and then feels winded as he’s reminded that Ashton hates him right now. Okay, not hates, but- Yeah. He frowns.

 

He breaks open the can, cringing slightly at the overloud fizzle of it in the quiet kitchen, and tilts his head back for a drink.

 

It slips down his throat in a burn, too much and too fast, but he likes it.

 

After five seconds, Calum lowers the can from his lips with a somewhat satisfied exhale. At least now, all he can taste in his mouth is the sweet, sweet threat of diabetes.

 

“Really? Coke?”

 

Calum jumps about five feet in the air at the sudden voice, and he whips around to stare at the source.

 

Oh. It’s Luke.

 

He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning sleepily against the frame. His blonde hair is flat, and a yawn is just leaving his lips as Luke lifts his arms in a stretch, lengthening his body even more. Calum swallows, still standing with a hand over his heart and the coke can crushed slightly in his hand.

 

Luke recovers from his stretch, and blinks. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

 

He tilts his head, and Calum can’t help but want to kiss the droop of Luke’s eyes. The younger is obviously very much asleep on his feet.

 

“You startled me,” Calum answers, delayed. “What are you doing out of bed?”

 

“I slept on the couch,” Luke says, rubbing at the back of his neck and Calum laughs sympathetically. As big as the couch is, him and Luke are both well into reaching 6’5. The couch is never big enough. “Oh? Why not the guest room?” He asks after the laugh dies down. “I dunno. I half-remember insisting very convincingly for the couch when Ashton attempted to get me to bed.” Luke replies, amused.

 

Again, Calum laughs, and it’s not awkward. He’s glad.

 

He wonders if Luke remembers the kiss. “Speaking of which, I half-remember just about everything,” Luke says, and follows with a whistle. Calum’s breath hitches. Could Luke read his fucking mind? “I can’t believe I threw up on you! I’m so fucking sorry, Cal.” Luke looks embarrassed as he says this, and he’s still rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“It’s fine,” Calum laughs it off, but inside he’s screaming, ‘ _I can’t believe you kissed me!_ ’ He recognises his sweatpants on Luke’s legs, and his shirt on Luke’s body. He even recognises the peak of underwear from above the sweatpants waistline as his own. Luke, in all aspects of clothing, is his. Calum laughs. “Crazy,” He mimics Luke’s whistle, to which the younger boy giggles. “Ya’know, I guess there’s a first for everything, huh. I don’t even remember why I threw up. It was like- We were talking, and then, just, blurghhh.”

 

“Don’t make yourself throw up again,” Calum jokes, frowning at Luke’s confirmation that the kiss had gone unremembered. Maybe it was for the best.

 

Luke gets a funny look on his face all of a sudden, and Calum realises he’s not smiling as he jokes. He quickly forces a delayed grin. Luke doesn’t seem to notice. “Hey,” He starts, and Calum’s still grinning. “I just have like, this weird… memory? I’m not sure if- You like- Uhmm…”

 

“What? What are you on about?”

 

“Like, I just… Did we…”

 

“Did we what? Have fun? You, maybe, me, not so much,” Calum is still grinning. Chuckling now.

 

“Hah… Yeah. I just- I have this weird… feeling, I guess. Never mind. I was just wondering if maybe we k- Nah. Nah, you’re right.” Luke cuts off his own strange ramble, and Calum could’ve sworn Luke was going to bring up the kiss. Unfortunately, the blonde boy is already past the fact. “I’m sure I had fun painting your clothes green,” Luke snickers, changing the subject.

 

“More of a chunky brown actually,” Calum says back, genuinely amused, nose crinkled.

 

They stare at each other for a drawn out moment, just smiling, when Luke’s eyebrow raises. “You wanna get to bed instead of standing in front of an open fridge?”

 

“Yes,” Calum agrees immediately, shoving the coke back into the fridge. He pushes away the remnants of memory of the kiss, and focuses on being Luke’s friend right now. The Ashton at the back of his head smiles approvingly. “Yeah, come on. I’ll tuck you in.” The approving smile falters.

 

Together, they head up the stairs.

 

Calum tries not to think about the kiss as he’s watching Luke get ready for bed properly. The blonde is busy in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and Calum lays back onto the king-sized guest bed in wait. His heart feels heavy in his chest, unsure whether or not Luke’s shoddy memory is a good thing by him. Ashton would certainly say so, and it’s one thing off Calum’s ‘worry list’. It should be fine. With Luke not remembering the kiss, Calum doesn’t have to feel awkward. Knowing about the kiss would just be another one of his secrets.

 

He had many of those. One extra would be no sweat.

 

Even though now, Calum had had a sweet taste of what he could possibly have if he had the balls to ask. Nah. _Friends_ , he insists, _are better than Luke’s lips_.

 

“Damn, I could get used to this. Coming to bed with my hot wife laying in wait,” Luke breaks Calum’s thought, and he smiles. “How ‘bout I paint you like one of my French girls?”

 

“Bonjour,” Calum agrees, and Luke laughs, shaking his head. He flicks off the bathroom light, and shuts the door. “Shove over,” Luke says, and Calum does, making room for the long-legged boy. He seems to have ditched the sweatpants, and lifts the covers to struggle beneath. “You getting under?” Luke asks once settled, and Calum just shakes his head obediently, submitting to the Ashton at the back of his head.

 

“Nah, I’m just here to kiss you goodnight,” He teases, and ouch. _Kind of inappropriate, Hood_ , Calum scolds himself.

 

Luke looks conflicted. “Why don’t you just stay?” And Calum tilts his head, surprised. “‘Cause I’ve gotta keep you on your feet, Lukey. Can’t have you thinking I’m whipped,” Calum grins, but Luke shakes his head. “No, really, Cal. Just stay, it’s not a big deal.”

 

 _That’s what you think_ , Calum almost says, but bites it back just in time.

 

He sighs, and feels a gnawing at the sickly feeling in his stomach. The headache between his eyes seems to have grown as Luke’s frown deepens.

 

They’re silent for a minute, before Luke speaks. “Stay,” He insists, but Calum’s already shaking his head. He gives himself a mental high-five for resisting so well. Mostly, it’s the image of a wrecked Jack in his thoughts that keeps him going, as well as the Ashton, with a permanent stern expression to ward him off any Luke-related scenarios.

 

“I shouldn’t, Luke. I’ve got to be up in the morning, and you’re an easy waker.”

 

It’s a lame excuse, but it’s something. Plus, it’s already off his tongue before he can change his mind, so Calum hopes his acting is as good as he thinks it is.

 

“It’s _fine_ ,” Luke says, and he’s sitting up now, not just propped on his elbows. The sheets pool in his lap, and Calum tries not to stare at the sliver of smooth skin that is exposed between Luke’s ridden-up shirt and his/Luke’s boxer shorts. “Just. Stay.” Luke continues, and circles slender fingers around Calum’s wrist. He tugs, and Calum almost goes with it. He jerks back at the last moment, and Luke stares at him with eyes round with hurt. “Why don’t you want to stay?” And he sounds so forlorn that Calum wants to just-

 

 _Wraphiminacuddleandwhisperthatheloveshimuntilsunrise_.

 

But he can’t. He just shakes his head with no words coming out for a long while. Eventually, he settles with, “I just can’t, Luke.” Which frankly, is worse off than his previous excuse of getting up early the next morning.

 

“ _Why_ can’t you?” Luke whispers harshly, and he’s full on pouting, now. Like, pink lips jutted out to accentuate their softness kind of pouting. Calum feels weak. “Did something happen at the party, Calum? Anything at all? Why did I throw up? What happened? Why were we outside?” It’s a bombardment of questions, each more insistent than the first, and Calum finds himself backing away slightly from Luke, who is advancing with each word.

 

“Woah,” Calum says, raising his hands. A side of his heart is telling him to spill everything to Luke - _He deserves to know_ , the side convinces. The other side is screaming protest, about all the consequences, and it’s enough to shut him up. All he can do is hold a hand to Luke’s shoulder as the younger boy gets more riled.

 

“Did we… Did we…”

 

“We, nothing, Luke.” Calum silences Luke’s hesitations, and pushes the blonde gently back into bed. He’s surprised when it works. “You’re getting worked up over nothing. I just need to be up early, and I don’t want you waking up with me.”

 

Luke still looks uncertain, but allows himself to be coaxed back to lying down. His head eventually hits the pillow, and Calum relaxes.

 

“There.” Calum says, and brushes Luke’s hair back, off of his forehead, only for it to fall right into place again. “All sound,” He smiles, and leans in with a breaking heart to kiss the furrows between Luke’s brows. They fade away. “Now get some rest, okay? No stirring in the middle of the night to interrogate Ashton at the fridge.”

 

“Yeah,” Luke huffs, but sneaks a smile. The sheets are all the way up to his chin, and Calum smiles in return. “Can you stay until I fall asleep, at least?”

 

Calum hesitates, but nods as Luke squeezes his hand.

 

“Fine,” He agrees, and Luke looks satisfied. “Fine,” He repeats, rubbing circles into Luke’s palm. _Friendship_ , he tells himself. _Nothing more_ , he emphasises. “Can you sing to me?” Luke requests, batting this eyelashes. He looks so pretty, all pouty and perfect, that Calum can’t help but relent.

 

He sings of the first tune that hits his head, and continues until Luke’s breathing evens out.

 

“You sound like her when you open your mouth, and I can hardly fucking stand it,” Calum croons, giving Luke’s hand one last squeeze, before noting the heavy rise and falls of Luke’s chest. He slips out of the room, and only then does he realise he’s sung the unfinished song he’d written with Ashton. Calum’s palm smacks against his forehead, and he whispers, “Shit!”

 

Luke sleeps on.

 

-

 

Luke leaves the next morning, half an hour before noon.

 

Calum has made sure to be up and about by nine, as he’d promised Luke he’d be awake early that morning. He runs down to the corner supermarket to stock up on some necessities whilst he has the time, hoping to butter Ashton up by doing the groceries. When he gets back, he puts everything in its rightful place in the kitchen, and gets started on breakfast - eggs, bacon and Vegemite toast.

 

Unsurprisingly, Ashton stays cooped up in his room well into the morning, although his room starts to blare music at around 10. Calum pushes down the feeling of dread as he tends to cleaning up the house. Ashton couldn’t be mad forever.

 

He returns from a jog at around 10:45, and hops straight into the shower. All those activities on half a hangover. Calum is on a roll.

 

Who knew a half-lie to Luke would get him off his ass and this productive, all before the afternoon?

 

Not that he’s encouraging himself to lie more often. Not advisable.

 

The blonde boy rises only at quarter past 11, and Calum sits him down to some toast, as well as two aspirin shoved down his throat. Luke barely speaks, just a raspy ‘Good morning’, nursing a headache. After he’s done, Calum calls him an Uber and he kisses Calum’s cheek at the door. It sends the butterflies in his tummy going wild, but Calum just laughs it off and hugs Luke in return.

 

By the time the front door shuts, Calum is exhausted.

 

He wants to crawl back into bed after a morning of activity and running around, but wills himself not to. He still has to woo Ashton. He goes to the record player set up in the living room, and sifts through the shelf of vinyls. Selecting ‘Surfer Girl’ by the Beach Boys, Calum slots it into place, and the house is soon filled with music from the sixties, blaring loud.

 

The perfect Ashton trap - ‘Surfer Girl’ on vinyl, breakfast done and served, and the groceries bought and packed away.

 

It only takes two songs for the music to pause in Ashton’s room, and an extra song-and-a-half for the curly-headed boy to actually emerge from his room. Calum tries not to jump him when he finally comes out, looking sleep-rumpled and nervous.

 

“Hey,” Calum chirps, and offers Ashton a side glance but not more. He’s busying himself with dusting the furniture, but doesn’t miss the look of shock that Ashton gives him.

 

The older boy stands silent for a few moments, clad in a ratty football shirt of Calum’s and his own boxer briefs. “Calum,” He says slowly, and his voice is hoarse. Calum hums in acknowledgement, feigning ignorance. “I know what you’re doing.” Ashton huffs, and Calum tries not to falter, only offers a grin. “Cleaning? The Beach Boys on the record player? You got the groceries too, didn’t you?”

 

“Maybe,” Calum replies in a sing-song voice, but a tremor reveals his nervousness, and he finally sets down the duster to turn to Ashton. He knows Ashton knows what he’s doing, but he’d been counting on that.

 

Now that Ashton was actually in the living room on his own accord, Calum knew the curly-headed boy couldn’t be _too_ angry. If he was, he wouldn’t even be giving Calum a chance. With this, Calum offers his most charming smile, and holds out a hand shyly.

 

“Dance with me?” He asks, and bats his eyelashes.

 

Ashton scoffs, but doesn’t glare. He eyes Calum’s outstretched hand, and after several heartbeats, his own hand reaches out to enclose Calum’s in a lose grip.

 

“Fine, but only ‘cause I’m a sucker for ‘Little Deuce Coupe’.”

 

“That was what I was hoping for,” Calum grins, and gives Ashton a little whirl as soon as their hands touch. Ashton squeals, but allows himself to be spun. He’s laughing as Calum doesn’t stop at one twirl, and instead spins Ashton for five or six full circles. “Stop, stop, stop!” Ashton laughs after the sixth, and Calum giggles, too, but obeys. He stops with the whirling and twirling, and instead rests a hand on Ashton’s waist, the other clasped in Ashton’s hand as they dance.

 

‘Little Deuce Coupe’ transitions into ‘In My Room’, and they both slow down to match the song.

 

Ashton hooks his chin onto Calum’s shoulder as they waltz, his hand resting on Calum’s other shoulder. They move to the rhythm for many seconds, just the two of them and the record player, when Ashton speaks.

 

“I’m not mad at you,” He says, muffled by Calum’s neck. Calum expects more, but no words follow, and they continue to dance. The song changes, but their steps remain slow. “I was upset last night,” Ashton finally adds, and he exhales in a long breath. Calum stays silent, allowing ’Surfer Girl’ to coax Ashton’s explanation out.

 

“I was upset, but,” Ashton starts, and leans back so their eyes meet. Calum nods. “It was because I love you, Cal.”

 

“I love you, too,” Calum immediately replies, and Ashton smiles, albeit slightly sad. “I do, Ash. And I’m sorry,” Calum sighs, and he supposes it’s his turn to talk. So he does.

 

“I’m sorry for being an ass, not just last night, but for the past few days.” He gives Ashton a little whirl, just to lighten the mood, and the older boy laughs gently. “I was just really riled last night, and I took it out on you, and I’m sorry. You deserve a better best friend, honest.”

 

“What?” Ashton’s expression pinches in confusion. “A new best friend? But- Mitchy’s great!”

 

Calum groans, and shoves at Ashton’s shoulder lightly. It breaks them apart for a moment, and Ashton giggles, but they come together again, this time with Ashton’s hand on Calum’s waist and Calum’s hand on Ashton’s shoulder. The heavy feeling in Calum’s chest evaporates into the lightheartedness of the environment. He breathes easily as Ashton meets his gaze with a happy glint of amusement in his own hazel eyes.

 

“We’re okay, then?” Ashton confirms, and gives a little wiggle of the hips as the guitar picking of ‘the Rocking Surfer’ comes on. Calum’s smile falters, and he grips Ashton’s shoulder harder. “Uhm, almost?” He answers, and worry takes over Ashton’s expression.

 

“What is it?” He asks, cutting straight to the chase, and Calum swallows.

 

Might as well out with it.

 

“Luke kissed me before he threw up,” Calum blurts in one go, and Ashton stares at him for a long moment, stunned. The ‘Surfer Girl’ record is coming to an end, and Calum chews his lower lip anxiously.

 

He expects Ashton to blow his top again, get red in the face and yell. He expects him to throw insults, and maybe even throw _things_ , but he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, Ashton’s face crumples into one of sympathy, and he whispers an, “Oh, Cal,” before pulling Calum into a tight hug. It’s not what Calum expects, but it’s certainly welcome as the younger exhales sharply, shocked as Ashton begins babbling apologies.

 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night, Cal. And I’m sorry I said I didn’t trust you. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up, and oh god- I made it worse last night didn’t I? I’m so sorry, I-”

 

“Ash, stop.” Calum huffs disbelievingly, digging his fingers into Ashton’s sides. The older squirms slightly, ticklish, and Calum loosens his hold, Ashton leaning back. “Please don’t apologise, yeah? I’ve been such a _dick_ to you this past week, and I don’t blame you for getting angry at me. I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Ashton stares at him again for a long while, eyes large and sad, before mumbling, “You’re an asshole, Calum,” and leans in for another hug.

 

“Yeah, well,” Calum offers lamely, but it seems to be enough as Ashton squeezes around his middle. Calum feels like the world has been lifted off of his shoulders now Ashton isn’t mad at him, and he winds his arms around Ashton’s torso, just under his armpits, to hug back fiercely. He can feel Ashton smile against his neck, and they stand like that for ages, the record having stopped.

 

After a moment, Ashton pinches at Calum’s skin gently, and pulls away with an amused smirk.

 

“What?” Calum frowns suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

 

Ashton just rubs at his face, fondness oozing out of his posture as he giggles. “God,” He starts, and Calum’s still suspicious. “We’re acting as if we haven’t spoken in _years_ , Cal. It’s been like- Nine hours?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Calum huffs, and turns away from the older boy.

 

There’s no venom behind his words, and Ashton knows that, because Calum is grinning so hard it hurts his cheeks. He can’t help it though. Despite all the issues circulating his head in regards to his unrequited love situation, having Ashton back on his side makes him feel like he can take on the world.

 

It’s a good feeling, and his grin widens when Ashton plasters himself to Calum’s back and starts whining about breakfast.

 

-

 

“So, tell me about the kiss.”

 

Calum rolls his eyes so hard it kind of hurts, and Ashton lets out an offended squawk. “What was _that_?” He huffs, shoving a pillow in Calum’s direction. It misses completely and lands on the floor. Calum wants to smile at how easily they’ve slipped back into being ‘OK’, but at the same time, he’s unsurprised.

 

They’re like that. It’s _them_.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Calum says breezily, jamming his fingers into the buttons of his PS4 controller. He’s playing Uncharted 4 in the living room, which Ashton has zero interest in but insists on lounging around anyway. “You _do_ ,” Ashton pouts, and shoves his head into Calum’s lap demandingly. Calum just lifts the controller slightly higher so he’s not disrupted, and Ashton makes a hurt noise.

 

“You love your gaming more than you love me,” Ashton whispers, forlorn.

 

Calum’s shoulders shake with laughter, but his eyes remain glued to the screen. “At least deny me in a sense of false hope and ignorance!” Ashton cries, shoving his face against Calum’s tummy. “Quit it,” Calum protests, squirming slightly as Ashton unintentionally tickles him.

 

The older boy stills with a heavy sigh, and quiets for a mere thirty seconds.

 

“So… about the kiss…”

 

“ _No_ , Ashton,” Calum grumbles, lips slightly parted in focus as he stares at the TV. Either way, he can feel heat rushing to his cheeks, but hopes Ashton doesn’t notice.

 

Ashton _does_ notice, and begins to prod at his face. “Calum has a _crush_ , Calum has a _crush_ ,” He chants, and Calum resists the urge to roll his eyes again. In reality, he’s relieved that Ashton is being so lax about it. He’d expected an extended length of the cold shoulder, but Ashton’s _teasing_ him, and it’s nice. Awfully embarrassing, but nice.

 

“Was it bad? Is that why you’re not talking?”

 

Calum groans, “It wasn’t bad, Ashton. It’s just- He doesn’t remember, okay? It’s weird. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

 

Ashton quiets once more, and watches as Calum’s character runs around the screen. He feigns interest for about five minutes, but gives up. “You know, you can talk to me about it, right? I won’t be mad if you say you liked it.” The words are gentle, and Calum sighs, pausing his game to rub at his eyes. He’ll never be able to game in peace without talking about it, and Ashton knows. The older boy struggles to sit up, and hugs his arms around his knees when he does, looking at Calum expectantly.

 

“Fine,” Calum says, and tosses the controller to the side. “Fine, it was- It was nice. He was shit-faced drunk, but it was nice. He tasted like alcohol and strawberries, but it was _nice_. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

“Go on.”

 

Calum shoots Ashton a look of disbelief, but the curly-haired boy just shrugs.

 

“Fine, um. He got really up in face and stuff so I leaned back. I didn’t want to make things worse and shit and I didn’t want to kiss him and regret it. I said we should go inside but, he, um, kissed me, I guess.”

 

Ashton nods.

 

Calum gives him a look of exasperation, but continues.

 

“He, uh, sat on my lap? I guess, yeah. And he said he wanted me and stuff like that- He was drunk. And then I started to think of Arzaylea and shit and I pushed him to the side and said we shouldn’t and he got upset and then… blurghh…”

 

“Okay, you have got to stop doing that noise.”

 

“It’s realistic!”

 

“That’s exactly the reason why you shouldn’t do it,” Ashton snorts, and his hand rests on the back of Calum’s neck to twiddle the curls at the nape of his neck. “Do you feel better talking about it?”

 

Calum frowns, and shrugs.

 

“I guess, so… I mean- He doesn’t remember the kiss, so I feel _weird_ talking about it. I kind of feel like I’m robbing him of something, if that makes sense.”

 

“It doesn’t, but I get where you’re coming from,” Ashton sighs, and Calum gives him a half-smile. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to think about Luke right now, but he knows he’s got to address the heaviness in his heart. He can’t go his whole life grasping onto remnants of the kiss. Ashton’s right. He has to talk about it.

 

They sit in silence for a moment, and Ashton scoots closer for a cuddle. Calum opens up to it, and Ashton rests his head on Calum’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry, C.” Ashton hums, and Calum smiles a real smile - he’s all too grateful for Ashton. “It’s fine,” He says, although it’s not. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore.” Ashton doesn’t respond, digging his thumb into Calum’s hipbone as they watch the paused video game on screen. They’re quiet for so long that Calum thinks Ashton has fallen asleep, and can feel tiredness tugging at his own eyelids. He sighs, and lets his head fall to rest atop Ashton’s, eyes falling shut.

 

He’s almost drifted off, when Ashton shakes him from his daze.

 

“You have to tell him, ya’know?”

 

Calum’s heart drops, and he sits up straight, to which Ashton nearly falls over at the sudden movement. All traces of sleep are gone. Calum ignores this, and chews at his lower lip. “I can’t, Ashton. You know I can’t.” He protests feebly, playing nervously around with his fingers, and Ashton stares at him with big eyes, sympathetic. “You have to,” He insists, and Calum shakes his head. “He deserves to know, Calum. You said it yourself - you feel like you’re robbing him of something. You have to tell him.”

 

“Telling you is perfectly fine on me!”

 

“But he deserves to _know_. Don’t you think he deserves the chance to, like- Pick? Or, like, think it over or something? Ignorance isn’t always bliss! You’d want him to tell you if _you_ kissed _him_!”

 

“It’s different,” Calum protests, and falls back against the sofa once more. He feels deflated under Ashton’s knowing stare. “I don’t have a long-term girlfriend on the line,” Calum continues, words heavy. Ashton makes a noise of distress, and clutches Calum’s hand. “Luke isn’t hopelessly in love with me,” Calum mutters, and closes his eyes. Ashton squeezes his hand. “It was just- It was a mistake, okay? He was drunk.”

 

“That’s not true,” Ashton says harshly, and forces himself back under Calum’s arm for a cuddle. “He was drunk, but it wasn’t a mistake. You said he said he wanted you, right? Alcohol brings out the truth!”

 

“Alcohol does jack shit,” Calum retorts, but doesn’t take his arm from around Ashton. He doesn’t want to argue, but the discussion is currently breaking his heart. “He was blinded by lust or some whatever. It was nothing to him, Ashton.”

 

“You’re being stupid,” Ashton scoffs, but squeezes an arm around Calum’s middle. “You’re an idiot,” Ashton continues, but the conversation is over. Calum is grateful.

 

After ten minutes of silence, he feels Ashton’s breathing even out against his collarbone, and follows right after into sleep.

 

Just before he falls into his dreams, Calum wonders when his life had become such a soap opera.

 

-

 

A day and a half later, Calum receives a text from Michael.

 

**MGC, 12:32PM**

whautp calapl!!! hope ur not dead from jacks LOL. get some late lunch w/ me?? cool glad ur coming

 

It’s short, and so incredibly _Michael_ , that Calum just laughs when he reads it. He finds himself replying immediately, and realises that a break from his melodramatic, unrequited love-based, soap opera life is just what he needs. Basically, a day with Michael is just what he needs.

 

He’d become so wrapped around his situation with Luke that Calum was beginning to feel disgustingly co-dependent on his unrequited love. It was as if the situation described him, and he didn’t want that at all. He yawns, and props himself up on his elbow, having just woken up. He’s surprised Michael is up, considering it’s barely past noon.

 

Calum shakes off the sleepy feel, and taps back a response.

 

**CTH, 12:33PM**

Fine u get me for 1 day. Love u lots mikes xx

 

**MGC, 12:33PM**

Seened. (Grovers at 3pm love love lovoerrr)

 

Calum grins down at his phone, sending an array of emojis in reply, before putting it off to charge on his bedside table. He figures he might as well get up now and enjoy a slow morning (afternoon) routine before heading out.

 

He takes his time in the bathroom, giving his body the thorough scrub down he normally didn’t have time for. The shampoo tinges his hair with strawberry scent, and Calum spends ten minutes just standing beneath the spray of hot water. It’s the perfect temperature, and it takes a little more willpower than usual to drag himself out from the shower. Calum towels himself off carefully, ruffling his hair half-dry to finish it off.

 

Satisfied, he wraps the towel around his waist, and leans over the sink to brush his teeth and wash his face.

 

“What’s got you up so early?”

 

Calum startles slightly, but not by much as he sees Ashton in the reflection of his mirror, leaning against the doorway. He still has the toothbrush in his mouth, and goes to spit out the foam and wash out his mouth.

 

He straightens once more, flicking off the tap and turning to rest against the sink. Ashton looks up from where he was examining his fingernails. “Sorry, what?” Calum asks with a grin, and Ashton just rolls his eyes. “I _said_ , what’s got you up so early? I came in to wake you and honestly, Cal? I was shocked when your bed was empty. Shocked _and_ hurt.”

 

It’s Calum’s turn to roll his eyes as he shoulders past Ashton in the doorway, gripping the towel around his waist to make sure it doesn’t fall.

 

“Hey, I’m talking!” Ashton follows him from the bathroom and flops across his bed with a sigh. “You never wake up early for me,” He croons dramatically, facedown. His words get lost in the duvet, but Calum manages to make them out with a laugh.

 

He leans down to ruffle at Ashton’s curls, and dodges out of the way as the older reaches out to drag Calum into bed. “Join meeeeee,” He insists, huffing as he misses grabbing hold of Calum’s wrist. He tries for Calum’s leg, but to no avail, fails once more. “Calummmm,” Ashton whines, and Calum just shakes his head, amused, turning from his best friend to the cupboard.

 

“What d’you think I should wear?” He asks, just to make conversation, standing with hips cocked in front of the closet. He may or may not have too many clothes, but he can’t seem to stop hoarding more.

 

He hears Ashton shifting around on the bed to get a better look, and he takes the time to plan out an outfit in his head. Calum personally thinks he looks good in basketball shorts, but never has the chance to wear them due to Michael screeching protest. Something about, “ _We have an image to uphold, Calum! It’s skin tight jeans or out of the band_!” He shudders at the thought.

 

“Jeans and a white shirt,” Ashton suggests, and Calum snorts at the predictability.

 

Either way, he fishes the objects out of his closet and turns to Ashton with a raised eyebrow. “No offence, Ash, but I’d rather not be a Calvin Klein wannabe model right now.”

 

“Hey!” The older boy sits up in bed, pointing a finger at Calum threateningly. “The paparazzi called me that one time! _One time_!” Calum just grins and turns again to the cupboard to deposit back the white shirt, keeping the jeans in his left hand. “I’m meeting Michael today, so jeans are obligatory.”

 

Ashton comes to stand beside him, knocking Calum to the side with his hips. “Hey!” Calum huffs, but allows Ashton to do so, the older boy sifting through the clothing with thoughtful hums.

 

“Michael, huh? Is this a time for me to play the jealous best friend?”

 

Calum raises an eyebrow, “The jealous best friend to the jealous best friend?”

 

Ashton gives him a pointed look. “You know I meant jealous best friend for Michael right? Not you. Never you. Michael, too. He’s jealous for me. Not you.”

 

“Get out of my room,” Calum grumbles, but surrenders and lays across the bed. Ashton got a bit twitchy when it came to fashion. It was ‘his thing’ according to him. “You love me,” Ashton sing-songs, and Calum raises his head to reply, only to be hit in the face with two pieces of fabric.

 

He muffles protest, but Ashton talks over him. “There, since you don’t want a white shirt. A grey shirt instead! And a bomber jacket since it’s cold.” Ashton sniffs. “Wow, you’re so thoughtful.” Calum says wryly, sitting up to examine the clothing. “Where did you find this jacket? I don’t think I’ve seen this since it went out of style a year ago.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Ashton snorts, going to sit beside Calum on the bed. He rests his head on Calum’s shoulder. “You’ll look good. What time is your date with Mikey?”

 

“Green is a pretty colour on you, Ash.”

 

“I’m not jealous!” Ashton huffs, biting at Calum’s shoulder. Calum squirms. “I’m just curious, s’all.”

 

“Sure, bud.” Calum coos, and pats Ashton’s hand. Ashton swears at him, and he laughs, making to stand up. “Anyway, he said 3. You and I both know that means half an hour late.” Ashton snorts and mutters a, “Right,”. Calum pads back to the closet, bending to open one of the drawers. He gets out his favourite underwear with the words: ‘Kiss me, I’m a bassist!’

 

The words are printed on the back, and had been custom designed by Mali as a gift for Calum’s birthday. He cherished them wholeheartedly to this day, and slips them on under the towel before letting it drop. Ashton got a bit funny about nudity.

 

“Alright, Fletcher, let’s see just how good your fashion taste is,” Calum announces, and Ashton laughs. “You already know it’s great,” He says cockily as Calum struggles into his jeans. They’re a faded blue and fit nicely around his thighs. Calum’s second favourite pair. His favourite, of course, are black. Speaking of which - “I’m surprised you’re letting me go out in jeans that aren’t black,” He teases Ashton, taking the grey shit and slipping it over his head.

 

“Yeah, well,” Ashton shrugs, feigning modesty as he tosses the jacket at Calum. “I like to spice things up.”

 

“Sure, Mr Calvin Klein,” Calum retorts, holding the jacket over his shoulder, not yet wanting to put it on. Ashton just gives him the finger, which is rude and a lazy comeback.

 

Calum goes over to his shelf and takes a smart looking watch out. It’s a clean-cut ‘Daniel Wellington’ wrist watch with a white face and a brown strap. It reads ‘1:13’ as Calum straps it on, and with a satisfied sigh, he turns to Ashton. “What d’you think?”

 

Ashton is lying across his bed on his stomach, and he struggles onto his elbows. “Hmmm,” He hums, narrowing his eyes. Calum rolls his eyes, but allows Ashton to ‘judge’ him. “I guess I would have sex with you. Only after a wine or two, though. Preferably red. Over a nice dinner. A steak. Some greens. You’d pull out my chair for me and I’d bat my eyelashes. Small talk would ensue.”

 

“Okay, thank you for that,” Calum laughs, and one of Ashton’s dimples surfaces.

 

He smiles, “I’ve always got your back for your fashion emergencies, Cal. I know you’re hopeless and would exit this house in a rubbish bag if you could.”

 

“Mhm, I sure would.” Calum agrees sarcastically, and finally allows himself to topple into bed beside Ashton. Ashton makes a sound, and hooks an arm around Calum almost immediately. “Finally,” The curly-haired boy huffs. “You have time for me.”

 

“You make me sound like I neglect you.”

 

“You _do_ ,” Ashton insists.

 

Calum just smiles, and allows Ashton to manoeuvre them into a comfortable position. He’s not too worried about crumpling his clothes, thinking more on how proud he is of Ashton. It’d taken a year or so for Ashton to finally accept cuddles as a normal thing, as Luke, Calum and Michael had already had two years to grow accustomed. Calum’s just pleased that Ashton has learned to act on his clinginess and initiate cuddles instead of laughing awkwardly and putting it off as ‘gay’.

 

He thinks about it a lot, and presses closer to Ashton.

 

“Love you,” Calum mumbles against his hair. It’s soft and slightly wet against his face. “Did you go for a run this morning?”

 

Ashton hums his answer, and digs his thumb into Calum’s hip.

 

Calum squirms slightly, easily ticklish. “You didn’t wake me.” He tries not to sound huffy, but fails. Ashton scoffs against his neck, “I actually did! You sleepily insisted that I was out to make sure you got zero beauty sleep and tried to bite me when I touched you.”

 

“Did I really?”

 

“Uhuh, you did,” Ashton pouts. Calum snickers, not really embarrassed. He was a frequent sleep talker, and tended to do things without remembering so when just woken up. Ashton was often a victim. “Well then, I’m sorry my unconscious self hates you. I don’t blame him at all.”

 

“Honestly, why do I put up with this slander?!” Ashton says dramatically, attempting to wriggle out of Calum’s grip. Calum just giggles, dragging out the word, “Nooo”, and clutching on tight.

 

He smiles as Ashton finally settles with a grumble.

 

-

 

The drive to Grover’s is short, and filled with shitty tunes.

 

He leaves the windows down, and a middle-aged couple with three kids in the backseat frown at him at a red light. He just grins and waves at them, before continuing on his way.

 

The slow afternoon get-up had left him in an amazing mood, soaring high in the sky. He hadn’t felt this good in days, and he relishes in the feel of it, knowing that hanging out with Michael would only improve his mood. He turns into the parking lot beside Grover’s, and sees Michael’s unnecessarily large Range Rover situated there already.

 

Calum parks beside Michael, and his respectably-sized BMW shrinks in comparison. As he gets out of the car and into the chilly weather, Calum slips on the bomber jacket.

 

He takes out his phone from his pocket to snap a quick selfie, sending it Ashton’s way on Snapchat. The curly-haired boy would probably be childishly pleased about Calum wearing the jacket to his advice. Calum smiles at the thought and makes for the entrance of Grover’s. It’s a nice cafe, hidden away from Los Angeles’ most busy streets, and Calum and Michael had taken to it immediately.

 

They frequented the area to have breakfast or lunch or brunch, making it somewhat of a routine to do so at least once a week when they were on break.

 

Entering the cafe, Calum sees it’s not as crowded as usual, and eases up. He spots Michael’s white hair straight away, and tries to hold back a grin, making for the table with eager steps. “Look what the cat dragged in,” He says as a greeting, and Michael puts his phone down immediately and turns in his seat to see Calum.

 

His eyes light up, and he pretty much tackles Calum into a hug.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad you could make it, Calum! Honest to God, I thought you died from Jack’s… How are you? How’s your penis? Did he happen to shrivel up from the cold? Oh no,” Michael gasps. “You can’t afford for him to be any smaller! He’s already so sm-“

 

“That’s enough,” Calum grumbles, giving Michael’s hair a little ruffle and going to sit across from him. Thankfully, nobody in the cafe pays them attention, and Michael just giggles.

 

He sits down, too, laughter dying, and stares at Calum through suddenly narrowed eyes.

 

Calum raises an eyebrow. “What?”

 

Michael pretends to startle out of his daze, and gives Calum a feigned look of surprise. “Sorry! I just- I… I haven’t seen that jacket around since it went out of style last year, that’s all.”

 

“Shut up!” Calum laughs, shoulders shaking with it. “That’s what I said to Ashton, but he insisted.”

 

Michael nods sympathetically. “Whipped,” He says, and Calum just rolls his eyes.

 

A waiter comes up before he can retort something smart, and Calum switches from banter to a polite smile. He uses too many ‘please’ and ‘thank you’s whilst ordering, so much so that he can feel Michael’s amused eyes on him. As soon as the waiter disappears, Michael bursts into laughter.

 

“Oh shut your face,” Calum mutters, throwing a sugar packet at his best friend. “As if you don’t sound the same when you order.”

 

“I’ll have a lasagna _please_ ,” Michael mimics what Calum supposes is his voice, and Michael bats his eyelashes. “Oh, _thank you_ , oh! _Thanks_! Please, thank you, please, oh, yes, thank you!”

 

“You sound like you’re in a porn,” Calum snorts, and Michael’s eyes shine.

 

“That’s some weird porn you watch, Cal.”

 

Calum sets down his phone on the table and shrugs. “At least it’s not ‘daddy’ porn, huh?”

 

Michael snickers, nodding his head. “Uhuh, at least it’s not that. Speaking of which - how _is_ Daddy?” Calum crinkles his nose as Michael smirks, and shakes his head. “Please don’t call him that when he’s not around to hate it.” Calum mumbles.

 

Michael just shrugs, “Your loss! Anyway, I’ve been meaning to catch up with him. Why didn’t you bring him along?”

 

“You didn’t ask me to,” Calum protests as Michael gives him a questioning look. “Hey, we’re all friends here. Invites aren’t compulsory,” Michael teases, prodding at Calum’s hand on the table. Calum shifts it away with a grumble. “He’s fine, I suppose. He was kind of peeved after Jack’s party and we argued.”

 

Concern flickers onto Michael’s face, and Calum allows it as Michael reaches across the table to grip his hand. It’s a normal gesture between them, and feels like home. “Did you? He seemed pretty lax about it when I was making popcorn and shit. What happened?”

 

Michael is giving him a look of honest worry, and Calum feels a tug at his heart. He pouts slightly at the dampened mood, but offers a smile when Michael squeezes his hand.

 

As he’s about to speak, the waiter comes back over with their drinks, an iced tea for Michael and a Sprite for Calum. They thank him simultaneously, and Michael lets go of Calum’s hand to take a drink. Calum sighs. He wants to tell Michael everything that had happened with Luke - his seven years of mental struggle as he battled with himself over how he felt for the blonde boy, the feelings that still remained even after they’d both dated other people, his encounters with Ashton and later Jack over the situation.

 

Michael is his longest-running best friend, and he deserves to know, but.

 

“It’s complicated,” Calum mutters, and Michael’s forehead creases. They sit in silence for a moment, tinged by the background chatter of the cafe, and Michael just looks at him expectantly, but with patience.

 

After a few seconds, Calum breaks. “It’s kind of a long story, I guess? I promise I’ll fill you in another day, but right now I just want to relax with my best friend, ya’know?” He chews at his lower lip nervously as Michael takes in the statement, and to Calum’s relief, the white-haired boy just gives him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Cal, honestly. You tell me when you’re ready, yeah?”

 

Calum feels light-headed as he nods. “Yeah, I- I promise I will, Mike.”

 

“Cool,” Michael says, and the mischievous glint returns to his eyes. “I noticed you said Ashton _was_ mad, as in you’re fine now?”

 

Calum nods again, suspiciously this time.

 

“Did you put on the Beatles or the Beach Boys this time?”

 

Michael grins as Calum bursts into laughter at the unexpected question, and conversation flows easily and happily after that. Calum is surprised that he’d expected to receive anything else from Michael but support and friendship. It’s nice, and sends a warm feeling through his body. When their food arrives, Calum pretends to groan and complain as Michael takes pictures of his food at a hundred different angles, attracting the attention of half the cafe due to his phone’s bright flash, and the fact that Michael had climbed his chair to achieve ‘better lighting’. In reality, as Calum covered his face from embarrassment, he made sure to peak through the slits in his fingers to watch his best friend of a decade with nothing but complete affection and fondness.

 

As Calum leaves lunch that day, he feels no where but on top of the damn world.

 

-

 

The high eventually comes to an end, and Calum pretty much crashes.

 

It’s a week and three days after Jack’s party, and the reality of _life_ hits him like a football to the stomach. He lays in the swimming pool, winded, atop a float, and stares up at the blue sky from behind his darkest sunglasses. They’re actually Ashton’s, but he can see the older boy emerging from the house in _his_ board shorts from the corner of his eye, and figures it’s fine.

 

“Calum!” Ashton calls from the side, and Calum doesn’t even bother turning to look, just raises a hand to flip his friend off. He can practically hear Ashton rolling his eyes, but chooses still to stare at the sky.

 

The sun comes in harsh rays, and he can feel himself being cooked. The sunscreen is no match for the UV rays, and Calum is ready to die beneath the thinness of the earth’s ozone layer. “Calum, stop being such an emo and get over here. You’re going to get sunburn!” Ashton continues, and Calum groans, wanting to roll over but would rather not fall right into the pool, _thank you_.

 

“It’s not just a phaseee,” He replies lazily, digging his fingers into the material of the pool float. His fingers push in to an extent and are shoved right out by the resistant plastic. Good - at least he wouldn’t be sinking any time soon.

 

“What’s not a phase - the emo or the sunburn? I’m hoping both are a phase. Get over here. Now, Calum!”

 

Calum groans again.

 

“You’re not my mother. Leave me alone.”

 

He tips his hand over the side of the float, and relishes in the coolness of the water. They engulf his fingers in a protective environment, shielding his fingertips from the sun.

 

Calum enjoys a peaceful silence for a few minutes. Birds chatter in the background and trees rustle. The wind blows softly, but does nothing against the sun’s rays. Ashton doesn’t make much noise, until Calum hears an accentuated splash, and his float drifts to the left with the disturbance of Ashton getting into the water.

 

“Ahhh,” He draws out the word in a bored tone. “Tsunami!”

 

“Shut up,” Ashton huffs, and Calum opens his eyes behind the sunglasses to turn his head. He can see Ashton disappearing beneath the water and surfacing back up after five seconds. His curls stick to his forehead, and Calum recalls a time when the hairs would be long enough to creep down to his chin. Now, with an improved haircut, Ashton’s hairs only make it to the tops of his eyes. Calum likes it this way.

 

He doesn’t say so, and again, raises a hand to flip Ashton off. He hears Ashton make a disapproving noise, and sees his face morph into a similar expression of contempt.

 

Calum doesn’t care, and huffs in response.

 

As Ashton walks over, body half-submerged up to his chest in clear water, the waves he puts out forces Calum to drift further away. _Good_ , Calum thinks to himself, and turns back to stare at the sky. If he doesn’t get a sunburn, Calum will definitely get an uninvited tan, whether he wants it or not. His shoulders heave with a sigh at the prospect, and he wonders when life became so _difficult_. Why couldn’t he lay in the sun without tanning? Proposterous.

 

Unfortunately, during his time of inner monologue, Ashton reaches the float, and Calum forces his eyes shut stubbornly as the older boy’s hand grips the plastic.

 

“Calum,” Ashton hums, and still, Calum keeps his eyes _closed_. Perhaps Ashton would think he was asleep and would _leave him alone_. A few seconds pass, and Calum almost smiles, thinking it’s worked. However, a drizzle of water across his stomach proves him wrong, and he opens his eyes in shock, sitting up.

 

The sudden movement is unwelcome by the pool float, and there’s a moment where Calum is teetering on the edge of falling. It passes, thankfully, and he continues on with his task of glaring down at Ashton.

 

“Are those mine?” Ashton asks before Calum can yell at him.

 

Taken by surprise, Calum shakes his head in confusion, and sputters. “What? Is what yours?”

 

Ashton frowns, reaching up toward Calum’s face. Calum leans back with this, refusing to be touched. “What? _What_ is yours? Use your words, Ashton!”

 

“The sunglasses! They’re mine,” Ashton answers, and his fingertips drag across Calum’s cheeks. For once, Ashton is cold, and Calum shivers at the touch. It doesn’t distract him however, and he bats Ashton’s hands away. The older makes a hurt noise. “You’re wearing my shorts,” Calum retorts, albeit late in response. Ashton just juts his lower lip out.

 

“Fine, whatever. Why’re you so grumpy?”

 

Calum’s jaw locks, and he stares down at Ashton with the heat of a million fires in his eyes. It’s all blocked by the tinted glasses, and Ashton stares right back, oblivious.

 

“I’m not grumpy,” Calum says haughtily, finally accepting that Ashton can’t see him glaring from behind the sunnies. “You’re just annoying today,” Calum concludes, to which Ashton scoffs. Calum decides he’s having none of that attitude, and shuffles to lay back down on the float, back _turned_ to Ashton. “Since you want to backtalk so much you can _talk_ to my _back_ ,” Calum sniffs, and Ashton laughs. He _laughs_. Unbelievable!

 

Calum feels fingers running along the top of his bicep to the curve in his elbow. Again, they’re _cold_ , and he suppresses a shiver. “What’s up, Cal? Talk to me,” Ashton encourages, and Calum reluctantly relaxes beneath his touch.

 

Tension floods from his body as Ashton continues running his fingers up and down Calum’s arm. It’s soothing, calming the swirl of heat in his stomach, and Calum allows it.

 

A few minutes pass, and Ashton’s fingertips have wandered from Calum’s arm to the the side of his neck and collarbone. He sighs. “I love you,” Calum mutters, still grumpy, but turns onto his back. Ashton hums, and lets his fingers move over the smooth expanse of Calum’s chest and abdomen. “Say it back,” Calum demands, and Ashton giggles. “Love you too,” He promises, and presses a sweet kiss to Calum’s arm.

 

Again, a few minutes of silence ensues, and Calum slowly slips out of his bad mood.

 

The dark cloud swirling over his head drifts away, blown over by light winds, and the sun - Ashton - shines through. Finally, Calum speaks:

 

“I’m thinking of maybe telling Luke or something. Whatever. I dunno.”

 

He jams his words together into a sentence nearly incoherent to a stranger’s ears, but Ashton, his best friend, picks out the key words with ease, and his fingers stop moving. Calum shifts, uncomfortable, and yearns for them to start back up again. A fire threatens to break out in his stomach, and embers of anger glow red.

 

“I think that’s a good idea, Cal,” Ashton finally replies, enhancing his words with another kiss placed on Calum’s elbow. Calum holds back a smile, and the embers die down once more. “I think that’s a very good idea. I’m proud of you.”

 

Calum flushes considerably beneath the praise, and resists the urge to instinctively bat Ashton away. Instead, he allows himself to bask beneath Ashton’s compliments, and fumbles blindly for his hand. Ashton helps him out, and laces their fingers together awkwardly. Still, it’s nice.

 

“Cool,” Calum agrees, and he turns his head to stare at Ashton. No longer does he stare at the sky. “Cool,” He repeats, and Ashton grins at him, lifting their hands to kiss Calum’s knuckles.

 

The tension leaves Calum’s body for another day.

 

-

 

Calum’s a little fucked.

 

Sure, he’s decided that he would tell Luke, but now, pacing his bedroom at the early hours of the morning, he doesn’t know.

 

He doesn’t know how he’ll tell him, or when he’ll even do so.

 

All he knows, is he’ll have to do it. ‘Cause he promised. Calum had promised Ashton just earlier that day. He’d said, “I’m going to tell Luke,” and Ashton had said, “Nice, I’m proud of you!” And Calum had said, “Cool.” And it was sorted. It was _law_.

 

“You’re being dramatic,” Jack says, and Calum startles from his thoughts. He stops pacing the bedroom, and remembers that Jack is on Skype at that moment. He’d texted the older man at around 1:15AM, five minutes from a complete meltdown, and they’d been skyping since.

 

He strides over to the desk where his MacBook is situated, and slams his hands down, bracketing the laptop. “I’m not being dramatic!” He hisses, and… Well, maybe Jack has a point.

 

Calum flushes as Jack gives him a pointed look, and he pulls out the chair to sit down, sighing frustratedly. “I’m not being dramatic,” He insists, and Jack returns to filing his nails. “Sure,” Jack says, voice slightly crackly over the speakers of Calum’s computer. “Maybe not, but you kind of are, no?”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Calum grumbles, and Jack sets down the nail file.

 

He seems to be in his own bedroom, kitted out in an old hoodie from what Calum could see. The hood is up, covering Jack’s flattened hair, and he yawns. He’s propped up against his headboard, and illuminated only by the light of his computer. Frankly, he looks sleepy, but Calum doesn’t care. He’s having a _crisis_. The computer, from what Calum could tell, was rested on Jack’s stomach, and Calum had a clear view of everything only from the chest up.

 

“ _You_ don’t make any sense,” Jack says eventually, and he yawns again. “Just tell the guy! I promise you’ll feel waaay better.”

 

“Was that how you felt after you told Alex?”

 

“Hah! Nope,” Jack scoffs, and Calum throws his hands up in exasperation.

 

Jack smiles sleepily.

 

“Okay, so it didn’t feel better? What kind of advice is this?” Calum whines, and Jack just laughs. “Not very _good_ advice, that’s for sure. I already told you, Cal, you shouldn’t take advice from _me_. The only knowledge I have is from my experience with ‘lex, and look how fucked we are.”

 

Calum frowns. He felt awkward discussing the tragedy of Jack and Alex’s relationship so openly, but Jack didn’t seem to have much care towards it.

 

The dark bags beneath Jack’s eyes told a different story. Calum sighs, leans forward and props his elbow atop the desk, resting his chin on his closed fist. “Look,” Jack says. “I think you should tell him, okay? When I say I didn’t feel better, I meant that I didn’t feel better because I continued my… whatever… with ‘lex. I didn’t put a stop to it, and in the process of our _scandalous_ affair, started to break my heart even more. Once you tell Luke, which I’m encouraging you to do so, you have two options. It all depends on how he reacts, okay?”

 

Calum nods. “Affirmative.”

 

Jack laughs slightly at the response, but continues on his rant. “If he reacts badly and spouts bullshit about being straight and stuff like that, _but_ wants to continue fucking around with you ‘ _no strings attached_ ’, you gotta drop that boy.” Again, Calum nods.

 

“… but if he responds well and reciprocates your feelings, then go for it! Unless he doesn’t break up with Arzaylea… Then, again, you should drop him.”

 

“Right,” Calum mumbles. It was a lot to take in.

 

He wasn’t even sure how he felt about the whole situation. On one hand, he desperately wanted to be with Luke. He’d wanted to be with Luke since they were fucking _fourteen_. He’d lived through all of Luke’s flaws and disgusting habits, through his absolute highs and best moments, and he still wanted to be with him. One of the only unchanging factors of Calum’s life since Year 10 had been his love for Luke, and his inability to grow body hair. But… Maybe that was the problem.

 

Not the body hair thing. The ‘loving Luke since forever’ thing. 

 

He groans. Jack looks at him expectantly.

 

“Do you think if… Let’s say it works out and stuff,” Calum starts, chewing at his lower lip anxiously. Jack gestures for him to go on. “What if… What if I love him too much? Does that make sense?”

 

“Explain what you mean…”

 

“Like- What if this kind of love is the _obsessive_ kind of love? Like how fans worship their idols. It’s still love, but it’s not the same as romantic love. What if it’s that, Jack? What if we enter a relationship and I’m completely berserk. I’ve loved this dumbass since I learned what love _was_ , Jack. Isn’t that kind of… I dunno- _Weird_?”

 

Calum sighs. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Maybe I’m just a fucking fan.”

 

“A fan of Luke?” Jack sounds disbelieving, and Calum blushes under his incredulous stare. He feels silly after his extended rant of words, but Jack just sighs. “Cal, don’t look like that, okay? I’m not judging you, I’m just- You’re not a fan of _Luke_ , okay?”

 

“You’re right,” Calum mumbles, biting at his finger. He’s _nervous_. “I’m being dumb.”

 

“Look, I’ve loved ‘lex since we were kids, too! I know I’m most certainly not a fan of _him_. I’ve sat through his embarrassing fringe phase when we were teens, and got one too so he wouldn’t feel bad. I’ve been on god-knows how many tiny buses with him, and basically memorised his shitting and wanking schedule. I’ve climbed trees with him, learnt guitar for him and started dying my hair because of him. I’ve been in love with him for more than a decade, Cal, but I’m not his fan. I may be his boytoy or whatever, but I’m not a fan. It’s not obsessive, it’s just- It’s just unlucky.”

 

“Unlucky?”

 

“Yes, unlucky.” Jack smiles sadly. “Unlucky because I know he loves me, too. I _know_ , Calum. The way he looks at me sometimes, it- It takes my breath away.”

 

Calum himself is beginning to feel a little short of breath at the sincerity of Jack’s words and just how hard they hit him. He thinks of big, blue, shining eyes, staring at him with endless depths of absolute fondness and pride. He wonders about the times when he’d catch those big, blue eyes staring at him during band practices or assembly, flicking his gaze over to find Luke already looking right back. Jack laughs, and Calum snaps out of his daze. “What?” He asks, slightly defensive.

 

Jack grins. “You get it, don’t you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Calum huffs, flushing a little bit red. Honestly, he feels tired, as if the weight of the world is back on his shoulders. The airy feeling from a few days ago feels more like a few _years_ ago. He’d felt on top of the world once upon a time, but as of right now, he felt like he was at the depths of hell.

 

He thinks bitterly back to a time when Mali used to read him stories about love and falling in love and one true loves and love this, love that. She’d said true happiness was buried in love, but if that was true, why did he feel like he’d be better off with no arms and legs. Why did he feel like _that_ would hurt less than the supposed love he was feeling?

 

Calum sighs.

 

He’s so tired, and he doesn’t _want_ this anymore.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Calum mutters, distracting himself from his inner train of thought. Jack nods his head before letting out a ferocious yawn.

 

Calum sees the time in the corner of his computer and pushes away the slight guilt as the numerals ‘5:32AM’ glare back at him. He’d let Jack go soon, but for now, he needs to calm the monster in his stomach. It was beginning to eat him alive.

 

“Are you happy?” Calum asks, and feels smaller than ever.

 

He shrinks further as Jack fixes him with a confused look. He almost retracts the statement, but boldly allows it to remain, looking anywhere but Jack’s face.

 

“Cal?” Jack says quietly, and Calum looks up reluctantly. “Of _course_ I’m happy.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Calum says, allowing the words to sink in before continuing. “How?”

 

Jack continues to look surprised by Calum’s words, as if taken off guard, but Calum returns his curious gaze with a challenge. He tilts his chin up, refusing to be belittled for his feelings. Jack wouldn’t do that, but Calum was feeling more and more manipulated by his weakness in emotions, and in turn, more and more defensive. He felt ready to fight against the world.

 

It was a shitty feeling.

 

“Calum,” Jack starts softly. He brushes some hair out of his eyes, staring wistfully into the camera. Calum doesn’t look away, although the guilt intensifies. “Cal, me loving Alex doesn’t define who I am. You _know_ that, right?”

 

Calum swallows thickly.

 

When he doesn’t reply, Jack continues. “You and I aren’t defined by what we feel for some _dickhead nobs_ , Calum,” He says harshly, and Calum flinches slightly at the intensity of his words. “You and I are individual beings. Jack and Calum. I am an individual whose feelings don’t shape my identity. I’m not ‘Jack Barakat, guy who’s fucked over by Alex Gaskarth’. I may have been, once upon a time, but- But- Not now. Now? Now I’m ‘Jack Barakat, guy with the skunk hair’, or ‘Jack Barakat, guy who throws parties to feel young’, or, ‘Jack Barakat, guy who made out with a woman twice his age on live TV’. I’m anything but who I was once upon a fucking time, because I am me, and I refuse to let my unrequited love stop me from being myself.”

 

Calum opens his mouth to mutter apologies, but Jack’s not done.

 

“I’m happy. I’m fucking happy, even despite this fucked up situation, because Alex isn’t the fuel of my _laughter_. He’s not the source of my _smiles_. ‘Lex isn’t the inside joke I have with Rian, and he’s not the teasing banter I have with Zack. He isn’t the meme a fan sent me on Twitter, and he’s not the punchline of a shitty joke. He’s not the daily pun that Feldman insists on mass texting, and he isn’t the memories shared between two friends.”

 

Jack smiles at Calum, a little out of breath. Calum doesn’t blame him, just stares at him in awe.

 

“Alex isn’t my happiness. He’s part of it, but he’s not the reason for my smiles, laughs or the crinkles beside my eyes. And- And- Calum?”

 

“Y-Yeah?”

 

“It’s the same for Luke. Don’t discredit your friends and family because of some _guy_. Don’t do that to yourself, okay?”

 

Calum nods, and for the first time in a while, he feels secure. He nods again.

 

“Okay, Jack.” He promises, and means it.

 

-

 

Jack smiles at the picture of Calum on his computer.

 

His shoulders are hunched, and he’s seated at his desk chair. His hair is flat, there are bags under his eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t been able to sleep soundly for years. His lips are turned down at the corners, as if unable to flick upward into a smile, and he speaks in a monotone voice, void of emotion.

 

In all honesty, Calum looks like shit, and in all honesty, he looks very much like Jack did just a few years ago.

 

But unlike Jack, a flicker of life is nestled in the depths of his big brown eyes. Unlike Jack, Calum’s eyes shine with ambition and aspiration. And unlike Jack, Calum has hope.

 

And that’s what Jack’s counting on. Hope.

 

-

 

_Incoming Call, CTH._

 

"Calum, hey. What's up? Why're you calling? Is something wrong."

 

"Nothing's wrong, Luke. Hi. Can you meet me today?"

 

"Sure, of course. Is something up?" 

 

"Nothing. Can I drop by your apartment?"

 

"Okay... I'm free after eight." 

 

"Perfect. I'll see you there, Lukey." 

 

"Yeah. See you, Cal. Love you."

 

_A short pause._

 

"Cal?"

 

"I love you too, Luke. Bye." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as u can see, i've decided to expand this fic into THREE parts LOL im so sorry that this isnt the end. honestly when i first started this i didn't expect to be so invested into it and splurge out 20k words (with more coming!!!) 
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> with this chapter, i've continued on with themes of unrequited love but introduced new themes of living with unrequited love and resuming normalities with your friends (michael and cal, ashton and cal), as well as not being defined by the struggles of unrequited love (highlighted by jack). i've accentuated calum's tendencies to switch between moods very quickly, as he's affected severely by his feelings for luke. he gets grumpy, and he gets moody, because it's hard to handle. i've tried to feature ashton more as the I CARE ABOUT YOU BEST FRIEND!!! and michael as the COMIC RELIEF BEST FRIEND!!! as well as jack as the IM YOUR GURU!!! i will 100000% appreciate comments and feedback to this story, as it's something very close to my heart. xxx
> 
> \- C
> 
> (PART THREE COMING!!!) 
> 
> also, if u want, u can hit me up on tumblr: wannabecalum   
> and i invite you to yell at me about the fic or ask questions or just tell me how your day is or about your worries. i need friends to be fucking honest. love u guys. x


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